The Last Sanguimagus
by valis2
Summary: Severus finds himself up to his neck in intrigue, bothersome students, and two new teachers that complicate his already complex double life. The Dark Lord's powers threaten them all. Sixth year, SSOFC, OotP spoilers.
1. Privet Drive

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

**Summary:** Sixth year, SS/OC, OotP spoilers. Severus must play the game, and well, for the future of all. When someone returns from his past, he feels he must try to atone for his actions…The Last Sanguimagus is a sixth year fic with a particular emphasis on Snape and an original character, a new instructor at Hogwarts.

**Author's Note:** I have been developing this story for a few months now. While I have tried to do as much diligent research and careful planning as possible, I know that mistakes will still be made somewhere, and I apologize in advance. I have tried to consult the Harry Potter Lexicon and the books closely; however, as I have developed Blood Magic as a separate and distinct class of magic, it is only canon in the barest sense possible, though I have tried to incorporate it into the HP magic system.

One of the features of fanfic is that the author must take a "stand" on certain material and lean one way or the other regarding unclear details. In order to further the plot in the proper directions I've had to make choices about how to interpret occurrences in the books. I have no real way of concretely defending some decisions, but I hope you'll bear with them, and myself, as I attempt to navigate the perilous waters of the Potterverse.

I would like to thank my wonderful beta, **Odd Doll**, for her wonderful work. Any errors that remain are mine. I would like to thank my Britpicker, **lianfire**. Any errors that remain are mine.

**And a warning:** This is R rated for a reason. Though most of this fic is fairly harmless, in the tradition of full disclosure I would like to mention that there will be references to past non-con, angst, some torture, and, given the name of the fic, blood. If any of this offends you, please do not read this. And, if you are one of the few people left who has not read OotP, then I regret to inform you that this will, indeed, contain spoilers.

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The Last Sanguimagus** by **valis2**

**Chapter One: Privet Drive**

Today was his sixteenth birthday.

The obligatory greetings and cakes were already safely stashed away. Hedwig was dozing in her cage. The late afternoon sun had given way to twilight.

Harry lay sprawled upon the bed, not in the least bit bothered that he hadn't been called to the evening meal. This summer had marked the beginning of a new era of Harry-Dursley relations; after Moody's threat at the train station they had evidently decided that they were simply going to pretend that Harry did not exist. He was certain that they would ignore him whether he stayed or left.

In fact, he hadn't left. Not once.

Dumbledore's words still haunted him. He could not leave, not if Privet Drive afforded him his only protection. He would not, could not, endanger any more lives. He would stay where his mother's blood remained strong.

At first it had driven him crazy, cooped up in the spare room. It was maddening. He wanted to run around, walk the streets, visit Mrs. Figg—anything. But when he did think of leaving, he thought of Death Eaters threatening him, Mrs. Figg dead or dying—Dementors hovering nearby—

He couldn't do it. Privet Drive was safe, and it had to do.

Owls had arrived from Ron and Hermione, chatting about their summer so far, but he didn't feel like responding often. He didn't like thinking about Hogwarts while it was still so far away. His O.W.L. results had come in days ago and he hadn't even bothered to glance at them. He knew he'd see them soon enough, after all; Hermione's letter had mentioned a visit to Diagon Alley. He couldn't really avoid purchasing his school supplies, and, besides, that would mean school was beginning and his torture was over. He'd look at the scores then. He couldn't do it now.

For five weeks he'd been stuck in Dudley's second bedroom, and he couldn't let it bother him. He had to remain calm. He couldn't think about how much he wished the term was starting, how much he wished he could have stayed at Hogwarts all summer, how much he wanted to visit the Burrow…

Even as he thought of the enchanted house he pushed it out of his mind, pushed out the image of masked Death Eaters overrunning the Weasley home, green flashes of light pulsing from wands—

A noise from the cage distracted him, and he looked up. Hedwig was demanding to be let out. He opened the window, the cool rush of evening air swirling around the room, and she hopped to the ledge, giving him an affectionate nip as she swooped off into the night.

He sighed and watched her go.

* * *

Every day seemed to run into the next, a slow grey blur, inching along. Hedwig had returned twice so far, delivering messages from Hermione and Lupin that he hadn't bothered to read yet. She'd left immediately after dropping the messages in his hand and receiving a few owl treats.

He wondered dimly when he'd showered last, and realised that he didn't care. Dull thoughts swirled in his head. He yawned and rubbed his eyes.

Suddenly he heard a tapping. He rolled off the bed and stumbled to the window, immediately recognising a letter from Hogwarts in Hedwig's beak. He opened the window and she gave him the heavy envelope before perching on the dresser.

He didn't want to open it, because it would make him think of his second, happier life, and he wanted to suppress those thoughts. Curiosity won out, however, as there might be some chance that there was an invitation to come back early. He tore open the creamy envelope and pulled out the letter. The first page was so familiar that he felt his heart squeeze with longing. _Better put that aside. _The second page was a list of school supplies. Then he stared, surprised.

There was a third page. His heart contracted. Could it be—could they want him to go home now—

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_A special course is being taught this year at Hogwarts. Professor Tanner will be instructing students in the art of Talismans and Amulets. This course will only be available to sixth and seventh year students. Should you desire to take this class the textbook is Protecting Yourself: The Defensive Art of Amulets by Protegia Sanctorum._

_Yours sincerely,_

It was signed by Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. Even more surprising, however, was the handwritten note at the bottom of the page:

_I took the liberty of signing you up for this class. It may come in handy._ The signature of Albus Dumbledore appeared neatly underneath.

Dumbledore wanted him to take the class. He sank down onto the edge of the bed, still gripping the letter. He still couldn't leave Privet Drive. And now he was enrolled in this class…because Dumbledore thought that Harry needed to protect himself from the madness of his life. From the hopelessness of his future. As if—as if a talisman could stop the Killing Curse. Or even the Cruciatus Curse. No talisman could stand against Voldemort.

The room suddenly grew cold, and he shivered involuntarily. In the back of his mind lurked the connection to the evil that had killed his parents, that had hurt his friends, that had knocked Sirius through—

_I won't think about this. I won't think about this. I won't give him the satisfaction—_

It was either him or Voldemort—him or Voldemort—only one could live—

He sat still on the bed for a very long time, the only sound that of his racing heartbeat.


	2. An Owl from Hermione

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

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Severus Snape was intrigued despite himself.

The Headmaster had waved him off from the staff meeting, telling him to inventory the potions in the infirmary for the new school year, something Poppy could have done quite easily herself. Privately he was relieved; staff meetings were an extended bore at best. His steps rang out on the polished marble of the staircase that led to the first floor. Why would Dumbledore not want him to attend? He could not at first imagine any policy discussion or scheduling argument that would not require his presence.

Then he remembered that it was early August. The new professors would be arriving.

He scowled. The new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Did the Headmaster really think he was so _fragile_ that he would snap at the mere sight of the new teacher? Did he imagine that Severus would leap across the table and throttle him with his bare hands after suppressing years of pent-up fury? No, it was preposterous. He had even kept his temper in check three years ago upon learning that the _werewolf_ would take the coveted position.

He frowned. Perhaps this was the rumor Pomona and Minerva had been whispering about disapprovingly last week—the return of a former student. His frown deepened. A former student who would now be teaching the class that he had always wanted to teach.

He had reached the third floor, and impatiently lengthened his strides to the infirmary. Who could be returning to teach? His brain worked furiously, trying to recall Hogwarts graduates. Who would be a likely candidate? He thought of several Ravenclaw and Gryffindor students who had performed well in the past ten years in their Dark Arts classes. Slytherins he dismissed out of hand—he knew the Headmaster too well. Or perhaps...no. He refused to think that Dumbledore would let one of the red-haired menaces back—

He froze in horror. No. No, Dumbledore could not possible have given a Weasley the position he had dreamt of for so long. He could not have. Better the werewolf than one of those—those—

He realised that he was standing completely still in front of the double doors that led into the infirmary. With a scowl he shoved them open.

* * *

Days were sliding away from him into oblivion. Sometimes Harry remembered to eat, to wash, to breathe in fresh air from the window; more often than not he simply existed, letting the hours drip past him slowly.

There was a sudden pain in his wrist. "Ouch!" he yelped, turning to see Hedwig nipping him sharply, a letter on the bed next to him. "Fine, fine, I'll read it, I know it's been here awhile," he muttered, noting Hermione's handwriting on the envelope.

_Dear Harry,_

_Are you ill? You haven't owled in so long! The Weasleys are quite concerned as well. I do hope you're all right._

_We're planning to visit Diagon Alley on August 30th. I hope that your aunt and uncle will let you come._

_I've been in contact with everyone we know, and Dumbledore has enrolled all our sixth and seventh year friends in the new Talismans class. Can you believe our luck, to be attending Hogwarts during such an opportunity? Talismans hasn't been taught there since Professor McGonagall was a student! I've already read the—_

Harry frowned and read the bit about Dumbledore again. "Everyone we know" could only mean the Defence Association. Why had he enrolled them all in this class? What could he possibly—_ouch_!

"All right, all right, I will write her right now!" he said aloud. Hedwig blinked her eyes, and he could have sworn she looked satisfied.

* * *

Harry came downstairs the next morning, feeling better after a good scrub and a nice bit of birthday cake that hadn't gotten quite stale yet. It was sunny and light outside, and somehow he just felt better. He turned the corner into the kitchen, hoping for some milk, and nearly ran headlong into Dudley, who shrieked.

Uncle Vernon jumped up from the kitchen table, upsetting his plate, and Aunt Petunia sloshed her grapefruit juice all over the tablecloth. All three stared at him for a very long moment before resuming their complete Harry aversion. Petunia began sopping up the juice with her napkin.

Harry picked up the Muggle newspaper and scanned for the date. His heart leapt. It was August 29th! Tomorrow he would be in Diagon Alley—

He ran back up the stairs two at a time, bursting open the door to his room. He needed his wand, of course, and—

Suddenly it dawned on him with crushing force. How was he going to get there? He knew that the Dursleys would only drive him to King's Cross to catch the Hogwarts Express so as to be rid of him for another school year. There was no way that they would ever voluntarily drive him to Wizarding London to shop. He would have to threaten them somehow.

Hedwig hooted, and one of the letters caught his eye. He remembered that he had never opened Lupin's. He picked it up and tore it open.

_Dear Harry,_

_I hope that you are enjoying your summer. Everything is very quiet here. We were all hoping you could visit, but the timing has not been good so far. I would, however, like to extend the invitation for you to spend your Christmas holidays with me._

_I have inherited a house that is too big for me and has some rather disagreeable tenants, but it is a place that I can call home for the first time in many years. I very much hope that you can visit me here, and that it won't seem too unpleasant._

_I believe that someone will be picking you up for your annual visit to Diagon Alley, but I can't say much more than that. Please let me—_

He scanned the rest of the letter and felt sad for Lupin. Yet again the werewolf was alone, his last Marauder friend torn away, and now trapped in that dreadful house...Harry's heart constricted with grief anew. Sirius had left Grimmauld Place to Lupin. And Lupin was concerned that Harry would be unable to visit. He was right. Harry didn't know if he could face it again. The thought of seeing Kreacher, alive, muttering nasty things, while Sirius was—

He half-sobbed, and suddenly his scar gave a slight twinge. He sat up, surprised. There had been nothing since the confrontation at the Ministry of Magic, just occasional flashes of stillness. No pain, no strange visions…just a deep and worrying sense of stillness. Lupin's letter mentioned that everything was very quiet as well for the Order.

He took a deep breath. _I must tell Dumbledore._

He reread the beginning, and wondered who would be picking him up. The Weasleys? Moody? He put the letter down on the bed and looked around. A lovely summer breeze was blowing through the open window and he looked askance at how messy everything was. He began to clean the room. Soon he would be going home, and he wanted to be ready.


	3. A Meeting with Dumbledore

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

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Severus was beginning to wonder what the Headmaster was hiding.

It had been a week already, and he still had not met the new Defence teacher.

Severus had seen a rather annoyed-looking ginger-haired man conversing with Minerva. Sylvester Marten? No, no, Silas Marten, that was it. No doubt he was the new Talismans teacher, another fool sent to try to protect Potter and his minions. He sneered. If they thought the Dark Lord would be put off by an overgrown charm they were quite mistaken.

This still left the mystery of the other new teacher—the former student. He gathered from bits of overheard conversations that the others were not enamored of her. He was immensely relieved that, as the teacher in question was a woman, she could not possibly be a Weasley. Unless she was Molly, of course, but that was highly unlikely. What that woman knew about the Dark Arts could safely fit into a teacup.

Just as perplexing was the subtle hint of Dark Magic that he had felt occasionally since the new teachers had arrived. Dark and somehow...bloody, though he wasn't certain how he had known that. It just felt...strange. The Dark Lord positively reeked of Dark Magic at times, but this was so minute he had nearly dismissed it out of hand at first. He wondered idly if he could borrow one of Dumbledore's Dark Magic Detectors, but then thought against it. It would not do for it to detect the bits and pieces of Dark Magic in his own office.

Dumbledore kept sending him on more errands, giving Severus tasks that he normally would have done himself to prepare for the new school year. Severus knew that the Order was keeping Dumbledore busy, but privately he resented it a little. After all, he had his own work to do, and Order meetings to attend. There were Death Eater meetings as well, though there had been blessedly few this summer due to the Dark Lord's slow recovery after the Ministry of Magic fiasco.

And now this summons to the Headmaster's office. Perhaps this would explain everything. He snorted derisively. More likely the Headmaster wanted to stuff him with sweets and wax poetic about the rousing cheer of owning dormice.

The gargoyle waited impassively for the password. "Chocolate Frog," said Severus, and went up the moving staircase through the oak door. He was across the room in a few quick strides. Dumbledore sat at his desk as usual, and two large chairs faced him.

"Please sit down, Severus," said Dumbledore. "I would like you to meet our new Talismans instructor."

He briefly glanced at the woman who was already seated and sat down in the other chair. "Talismans? I thought—isn't that Marten fellow teaching that class?"

"No, Silas is teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts," replied Dumbledore. He sighed and looked at Severus with great sympathy. "This is Miss Sarah Tanner. She was a Ravenclaw here at Hogwarts in your year." He looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I am sorry to have kept you two apart, but I knew that your—initial reacquaintance with each other would not be—very positive, and I wished for it to occur without an audience, so to speak."

Severus was thoroughly confused, and somewhat irritated. "I'm not certain I understand."

"Severus...you—met her briefly again a few years after you left Hogwarts."

After he left...but that would mean he met her while he was...

He turned and looked at her. She returned his gaze. She still did not immediately look familiar. Sarah Tanner. Then he vaguely recalled having a class or two with her...Herbology, perhaps? She had shoulder length brown hair and pale green eyes. Nothing special. She was sitting very stiffly at the forward edge of the chair, as if afraid of leaning back.

Then it struck him. The room visibly lurched as he fought to retain the contents of his stomach.

"I see you have finally placed her," Dumbledore paused and watched Severus closely. "She has taken a classroom on the ground floor, and the office and private space behind it, given that she has some difficulty with stairs."

"You—you are dead," he gasped. He couldn't even look at her. His hands clutched the arms of the chair so tightly that the wood creaked.

"I am very much alive," she said simply.

It explained the whisper of Dark Magic. After all, it was of his own doing. "The potion..." he near-whispered.

"Still quite strong," she answered.

He raised his head, and looked into her blank green eyes. "You...I don't...I am..."

"I have explained to Sarah that you are—reformed," said Dumbledore. "I know that this situation will be difficult, but I am certain that it will all work out for the best."

Severus looked at him incredulously. It would work out for the best? He shuddered. She should be dead. Merlin knew she had haunted him with guilt for years, and now, to find her here, alive, most likely still cursed with—His stomach gave another flip. "I—I have—I must—" He leapt up out of the chair and made for the door, slamming it wildly behind him as he took the steps two at a time.

* * *

Sarah heard the door slam and looked back to Dumbledore.

"He has a heavy burden to bear," said the Headmaster. "He has atoned for many of his past mistakes." He gave her a penetrating look. She simply nodded. "I would understand if you avoided him completely, my dear, and I would not blame you. It will be difficult enough keeping up with classes in your—condition."

"I have coped with this for nearly sixteen years," she said evenly. "I will deal with whatever presents itself." She paused for a moment. "I must mention, however, that some of the Professors do not seem happy with my presence here, much less teaching."

"I am aware of their hesitation," answered Dumbledore. "Their concerns about you will not be put to rest easily."

"You know what I've done," she answered. "You know what I made in the past, and how I made it." She unconsciously put her right hand in one of the pockets of her robe. "They are right to suspect me. I believe that one of them has already guessed that I am a Sanguimagus. If this information spreads and finds its way to a student's ear, it will put the parents into an uproar."

He looked at his desk before abruptly switching the topic. "Have you finished with Harry's talisman yet?"

She pulled her hand out of her pocket. Her left arm twinged. "It is nearly done. I need the boy to complete it."

"He will be here very soon. Voldemort's recuperation is nearly complete, and I fear that he will attempt to misuse Harry again."

"I can give you no guarantee that it will work. It might not be able to block enough to make a difference."

"I think you are not giving yourself enough credit." He smiled faintly. "It is an impressive piece of work, especially on such short notice."

She shifted position slightly and nearly winced at the immediate pain the manoeuvre cost her. "It is the best I can do, considering that the—raw material is unavailable to me in large quantities."

Dumbledore grimaced at that and placed a lemon drop in his mouth. A moment or two passed. "Are you nearly prepared for your classes?" he asked.

"Yes. After all, I am only teaching four of them." She began the difficult process of standing up.

"I will always be available, should you need to talk." His face was sympathetic.

"Thank you," she replied, and began walking stiffly to the door.


	4. Leaving Privet Drive

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

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A barn owl scratched at the window, and Harry retrieved the message. It was written on a scrap of paper, and said only _Be_ _prepared_ in Dumbledore's writing.

_Prepared for what?_ he wondered. He turned it over in his hand. There was nothing else written there. He suddenly felt a quick stab of fear. Was he in some danger? But he was supposed to be safe here at Privet Drive. He took a deep breath and sat down on the bed, trying to think.

Hedwig preened her feathers absently on the top of the dresser. Harry had retrieved his belongings from the loose floorboard, and he had packed his trunk. Everything was stashed inside. He was ready to go to Diagon Alley and Hogwarts. Maybe that was it! Maybe he was just supposed to be prepared to leave! It made sense.

He tried to think how he would get there. Was the Order going to accompany him? Or would Mr. Weasley arrange to have the Dursleys' fireplace connected to the Floo Network again? The sun was setting, and he felt the pleasant buzz of anticipation. It would be so wonderful to see Ron and Hermione—

His scar prickled irritatingly, and he rubbed at it, wondering why it was suddenly acting up again after having been quiet nearly the entire summer. He flopped backwards onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing that he were at Hogwarts already.

* * *

Sarah surveyed her classroom again, wondering if she had forgotten anything. The students would be here soon, and if she wanted this to work, she had to start out properly with them.

Dumbledore had given her the three empty classrooms on the ground floor on the right-hand side. She was grateful. Climbing the stairs every day would have been quite an exertion, as she could not simply Apparate. It meant that she was across from Firenze's classroom, which probably wasn't a good thing, but so far he had maintained a civil distance from her. It also meant that she was close to the entrance to the dungeons, but after the meeting in Dumbledore's office she was certain that Severus would do his best to avoid her.

She had left the first classroom alone, turned the second into her office, and walled off the door into the corridor for the third, making it her own set of rooms with its only entrance in her office. Minerva had helped Transfigure part of it, as Sarah at best was only barely competent in that branch of magic. The older professor had been stonily silent throughout and seemed to want to be anywhere but the same room with her, which meant that she knew, of course, but still, she had helped.

She sighed. This was a challenge, but it was her only option. Truly Dumbledore was the patron saint of second chances to allow her to find sanctuary here, though he had surprised her by requiring her to teach in return. After all, she could not imagine any parent willingly allowing a Sanguimagus to teach their children anything. She had questioned the wisdom of coming to Hogwarts more than once—after all, now that she was here she was effectively trapped—but after reviewing her options she realised that there was nowhere else to go. Dumbledore had assured her that, were there any complications, she was welcome to stay hidden here, and she believed him. Especially after she had walked the corridors for the first time and felt the deep undercurrent of magic within the walls. It had been her home once for seven years, and now that she had returned, older, broken, and tired, it was her refuge again.

* * *

Harry was suddenly awake. It was still dark outside. He had gone to bed fully dressed. He really didn't know what to expect, but the note had said to be prepared. It turned out to be the correct impulse, because the door to his bedroom opened and there, silhouetted from the glow of the hall light, stood Albus Dumbledore.

Harry was overjoyed. Dumbledore smiled kindly at him, his blue eyes twinkling even in the gloom. He snapped his fingers and the trunk levitated. "Shall we?" he said quietly. Harry nodded, putting on his shoes, and followed him down the hall, past the sleeping Dursleys, out to the front lawn of number four, Privet Drive, where a thestral waited, flexing its powerful, leathery wings.

* * *

Sarah closed the door to her office and walked out into the hall, mentally preparing herself for battle.

It wasn't battle, of course, but it was close enough. Since she had arrived, she had kept to herself, having her food brought to her by an exuberant house-elf named Dobby. Tomorrow, however, the students would arrive and Dumbledore had hinted that it would be nice if she got to know the staff, and mentioned a lovely custard tart that sometimes appeared at the staff table. Meaning, of course, that she should join them at daily meals. She crossed the entrance hall, passing by the steps leading down to the dungeons and the cold waft of air that always lingered there, past the marble steps leading up to the first floor, past the passageway that led to the kitchens, and walked into the Great Hall.

The ceiling reflected the brilliant sunny morning outside. The long tables for the four houses were gone, and only a large, circular table remained. Nearly the entire staff was already seated there, as it was so close to the school term, and she felt a slight twinge as she realised that there was only one chair left open. _I am late_. She crossed the hall stiffly, her back in agony, and eyed her seat, knowing that sitting down would only make it worse. But she was there now, and had little choice. She kept her face a blank mask and sat as slowly as she dared without drawing too much attention. It didn't work. Most of the staff stared at her. Other than the staff meeting she had purposely stayed out of sight, and now they all eyed her, some suspiciously, a few with outright hostility.

"Ah!" said Dumbledore warmly. "How nice of you to join us on this lovely morning, Sarah." He looked tired, despite his friendly greeting.

A few of the teachers mumbled good morning to her. "Good morning," she replied quietly. She glanced around once, and saw Severus staring at her. He looked away immediately.

She surveyed the heaping platters of food in front of her, hoping for some simple porridge or gruel. There was a bowl with some creamy white substance nearby, and she silently thanked the house-elves. Unfortunately, it meant she would have to stretch to get it, as it was rude to levitate food on a table at such a public gathering. She gathered herself and leaned forward, reaching out her right hand and carefully picking up the bowl. There was no clear space to set it down, however, which meant she would have to spoon it out with her left hand. She steeled herself and brought up her left hand to serve herself the porridge, and then replaced the spoon and put the bowl back. Familiar pain overran her, the heat of her back scalding, her upper left arm bleeding anew through the bandages. She stared at the porridge, using all of her will to block out the agony, carefully taking a spoonful and concentrating on calming her stomach. It worked to a small degree, and she was able to get through nearly half of it.

The other teachers were ignoring her pointedly, except for Filius, who had taught her Charms and had always seemed to like her when she was one of his prize students. He was sitting next to her, and at one point had given her a small smile, though thankfully he had not tried to bring her into a conversation. Minerva was on her other side, and had turned herself to face Aurora Sinistra, holding a rather stilted exchange about Transfiguration. A few of the professors had left. She noticed that Severus was one of them. She put down her spoon and used her napkin to wipe her lips. Time to return and work out the last details of her lesson plan, and change the dressings. She sat still for a moment, trying to work up to the task of standing up.


	5. A Midnight Flight

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

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The thestral rocketed into the air obediently, and Harry held on for dear life. The cold air whipped around him, and even the Warming Charm that Dumbledore had cast could not keep it out entirely. The creature was moving fast, covering a huge distance efficiently, the great beat of its wings the only noise beside the howling of the wind.

He held on tightly. The moon had set, and the stars were blanketed behind a thick wall of clouds. The sky was dark. He wondered if any Death Eaters had been watching, waiting for him to emerge from Privet Drive. If so, Dumbledore's presence must have frightened them off, because he saw and heard nothing when they mounted the thestral. He was relieved. He just wanted to get to Hogwarts without mishap.

They landed abruptly in a deserted alleyway, and Harry was so surprised he nearly fell off. Dumbledore dismounted carefully and spoke a few words in the thestral's ear, and it took off again, the wind from its wings nearly flattening Harry.

"Nearly there," said Dumbledore cheerfully.

"Where are we going?" asked Harry.

"The Leaky Cauldron," answered Dumbledore. "I have a room set up for you there. In a few hours the Weasleys will call on you and you will be able to procure what you need for the school year." He turned and began to walk.

Harry followed. The maze of streets was bewildering, but in a few moments Dumbledore entered the inn, and Tom showed them to room nine, leaving immediately afterwards.

"Professor Dumbledore..." began Harry hesitantly.

"No doubt you have questions, Harry," smiled Dumbledore.

"What is Voldemort—er—doing?"

"Voldemort has spent the summer attempting to heal himself. He was—damaged by the events at the Ministry. He has been in a—state of suspension, while his Death Eaters do all they can to repair him." He paused and conjured an overstuffed chair for himself and one for Harry and sat down. "He is beginning to awaken now, and it will not be long before he tries to hurt you again, Harry."

"Or my friends," said Harry glumly.

"Yes," answered Dumbledore simply. "I am afraid that your lethargy this summer was connected to Voldemort's—magical coma. With his possession of you at the Ministry of Magic, the bond has grown deeper. It is only a matter of time before he misuses it again."

Harry felt fright grip him. All of the terrible thoughts that had plagued him during the summer, the fear that Death Eaters would overrun the Burrow, his friends, even Hogwarts—

"The important thing is to remain calm," said Dumbledore. "We are all working in this together, and we still have hope. We are not about to stand back and let Voldemort hurt you or your friends." He pulled out his pocket-watch suddenly and consulted it, frowning. Harry caught a glimpse of twelve hands before he put it away again. "I regret that I must leave now. The Weasleys will be here to collect you soon." He stood up. "Should you need anything, Tom will be available. And if anything untoward happens, use your wand to set off red sparks. Moody is keeping an eye on you."

"Um—okay," said Harry, a bit overwhelmed.

"I will see you tomorrow at the Sorting Ceremony," said Dumbledore, walking out the door.

And just like that, Harry was alone. And bewildered. Had he really been lethargic this summer just because Voldemort had been—He shook his head. Thoughts whirled in his head.

* * *

Sarah walked through the nearly deserted corridors. It was strange to be here again. Hogwarts seemed so much smaller than she remembered.

Now that she was one of the teachers, she had become privy to many of the secrets of the castle. Secrets that, as a young girl, had seemed mystical and astonishing were now shown to be simple charms and spells. The odd statue of Phaedrus Philodendron that had always sang a little ditty about the house of nearest student turned out to be a little bit of magic from a bored Headmaster. The fountain that seemed to contain a girl crying that would suddenly laugh and splash water at you was triggered by proximity. It seemed to somehow diminish, just a little, the school's inherent wonder for her.

Then again, what could ever measure up to childhood dreams? Certainly her life had not at all progressed the way she had imagined it. Once she left Hogwarts she had expected to work for the Ministry. She never could have predicted the dark turns her life would take.

She came to the top of the nearest stairs and looked around. She could see no one nearby, so she gingerly took the first step down. Had she not required something from the library to consult for her lesson plan she would not have bothered leaving the ground floor. She gritted her teeth against the immediate, familiar pain. If Madam Pince had allowed house-elves to check out books for her she could have sent Dobby. She took another step. She had no one to ask for help but Dumbledore, and she certainly was not going to waste his time in retrieving reading materials for her. Her right hand gripped the banister tightly, helping her ease her way to the next step.

She heard someone approaching the top of the stairs, and she winced mentally at the image she must present, face flushed, moving like a snail. Sighing, she brushed it off. Sooner or later someone would see her tortuously ascending or descending. She just hoped that she would be able to avoid it while students were present.

The footfalls grew nearer, and Minerva walked past, studiously ignoring her. She collected herself again and focused on the next step.


	6. A Day in Diagon Alley

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

**A/N**: A special thank you to Lilith11 for reviewing. I appreciate it!

**

* * *

**

There was a loud knocking at the door, and Harry sat bolt upright on the bed. He crossed the room swiftly and had his hand on the doorknob when he remembered that he must be cautious.

"Who's there?" he asked.

"It's us! Open the door, Harry!" came Hermione's impatient voice.

He unlocked it and swung it open, and was greeted with the immensely cheering sight of his two best friends. They both immediately trapped him in a hug, and he suddenly felt warm and happy. Behind them stood the Weasley parents and Ginny, who rushed forward and added to the hug.

"It's good to see you," said Harry, meaning every word.

"We've been so worried!" said Hermione, finally breaking away from the hug. "Honestly, Harry, if Professor Dumbledore hadn't explained things to us we'd have tried to break you out of there weeks ago."

"Dumbledore explained...what?" said Harry. Anger rose within him, sure and sharp. "He told you to stay away?"

"Well, not exactly," fidgeted Hermione. "We—well, we can discuss it—later, when there are fewer—ears."

"How many O.W.L.s did you get, mate?" said Ron eagerly.

"I don't know, actually," admitted Harry, turning to him. "I've been a little...under the weather." He looked at Hermione, who looked away.

"You don't know?" asked Ron, completely surprised. "You haven't opened the letter yet?"

"No." He pulled it out of his back pocket. "But we can open it now..."

"Oh, yes, Harry, let's open it!" Hermione leaned forward.

He ripped the envelope open and pulled out the letter. There was a brief message that he ignored, and then he read aloud:

"Charms...Exceeds Expectations.

Transfiguration...Exceeds Expectations.

Herbology...Acceptable.

Defence Against the Dark Arts...Outstanding."

"Most of the DA received an Outstanding in the Dark Arts exam," smirked Hermione triumphantly.

"Care of Magical Creatures...Outstanding.

Astronomy...Acceptable.

Divination...Poor.

History of Magic...Poor.

Potions...Exceeds Expectations." He looked again at the last mark. Exceeds. Not Outstanding. He suddenly realised that Snape would never let him into his N.E.W.T. level class with that mark, and felt the urge to rip the essay into shreds. McGonagall had made it quite clear that he needed Potions to become an Auror, and now he could feel his dream slipping away. It was all because of the nightmare of last term. If only he could have one school year where someone wasn't trying to kill him or his friends—if only he could have a normal, safe life—

"Look, Harry," said Ron excitedly, "we got nearly the same marks in everything! Except I did better in History of Magic...er...but that was..."

"Maybe Dumbledore will let you retake the exam," suggested Hermione.

"He should," said Ginny firmly.

"What did you get in Potions?" If Ron had gotten an E as well, then they would both be picking new careers. He felt cheered by that thought.

"Er—an O." Ron looked embarrassed. Harry stared at him, speechless.

"Yes, and we're so proud of you!" Mrs. Weasley attempted to plant a kiss on his cheek, but Ron managed to get away. "And you too, Harry! Considering all that happened..." Embarrassed, her voice trailed off. Harry looked at the ground, trying not to think about it. "We really must be off," she sighed. "We have so many errands to run, school things to buy—Harry, where is your trunk? Arthur will take care of it for you."

"It's in my pocket. Professor Dumbledore shrank it for me."

"Oh! Well, then, let's get going! We have so many books to purchase—I hope they still have enough copies of the Talismans book—not taught that often—"

"Can you believe it?" said Hermione excitedly. "We're only the second students in a hundred years to take this class! I can't wait. I've found several other textbooks about different amulets and charming methods. And I'm sure that Madam Pince will be able to recommend others. Really, this is such an opportunity."

"The way she's been going on, you'd think they were teaching us to turn snails into Galleons," said Ron to Harry. Hermione closed her mouth with a snap, and gave Ron a dirty look. "At least we won't have Divination anymore," he continued cheerfully. "I won't have to make up any more rubbish about what I see in your tea leaves."

"I wonder who the new Dark Arts teacher is," mused Harry.

"At the rate we're going, he'll probably be a vampire," said Ron. Ginny giggled.

"You haven't asked me about my marks," said Hermione crossly.

"Why should he?" said Ron heatedly. "He knows you got all Os."

"What marks did you get, Hermione?" asked Harry.

She gave Harry a happy look. "Twelve O.W.L.s! I was a bit worried about a few of the Transfigurations and I thought my Cheering Charm explanation was a little short, but I received all Os! Just like Bill and Percy—"

Ron groaned. Mrs. Weasley looked stricken for a brief second, and then pasted a cheery smile on again. "We'll just pop into Flourish and Blotts first, and then nip over to Madam Malkin's for Ginny." She breezed on as if nothing had been said.

Harry nodded, unsure of what else to say. Obviously Percy was still avoiding his family.

* * *

Flourish and Blotts was the most crowded they had ever seen, and Harry had difficulty squeezing in through the door. He gave Hermione a puzzled glance.

"The letters came so late this year that nearly everyone has to shop today," she said breezily before plunging into the crowd.

"Why don't you and Ron pick out your books," said Mrs. Weasley, "while I help Ginny find hers. Oh, Harry, I went to Gringott's for you as well." She handed him a small pouch that jingled. "I think that should cover everything. Come along, dear," she said to Ginny.

"What are we supposed to get?" frowned Ron, scratching his head. "I don't have the list."

"I have mine," said Harry. "We need the new spellbook for Sixth Year, and there's a new Defence book, and that Talismans book." He pulled out the list and studied it briefly. "Let's go over here—I think I see Seamus—that must be where our books are stacked."

Ron nodded and followed him as they attempted to navigate the press of students. Several first years stood in his way, looking bewildered and nervous, and Harry was surprised at how small they looked. It was hard to believe they'd ever been that short. Ron had shot up again during the summer, and was now taller than Mrs. Weasley, and even Harry had put on an inch or two. He remembered the first time he'd ever been to Diagon Alley, purchasing school supplies with Hagrid, and felt a wave of nostalgia. Voldemort hadn't seemed real yet. Magic hadn't seemed real either, and now both were a part of him in ways he hadn't foreseen.

He was so intent on getting to Seamus that he didn't notice as a short man stepped in his way and nearly ran into him. He looked up at Harry and frowned. "Careful now!" He had thinning gingery hair and a small ginger goatee, and he wore a brown checkered suit that seemed at least one size too small. He stared at Harry's forehead, and looked surprised. "You're Harry Potter," he exclaimed eagerly.

"Er—yes," said Harry uncomfortably.

"It is a pleasure to meet you," said the man, seizing Harry's hand and pumping it enthusiastically. "I am Professor Marten, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts. Your name is legendary among Dark Arts professors, I must say." He turned to Ron and surveyed him critically. "And you must be a Weasley."

"Ron Weasley," said Ron.

Hermione had reappeared at his elbow. "Er—Professor Marten, this is Hermione Granger," Harry said, feeling self-conscious.

"Pleased to meet you, Professor," said Hermione.

"I must say, Dumbledore informed me of your little club," said Professor Marten. His smile did not falter but it seemed suddenly less friendly. "I do hope that my instruction will be up to your standards."

Harry felt his face grow hot.

"Everyone he tutored received an E or an O," said Hermione airily.

"Harry was brilliant," said Ron at nearly the same time.

"Ah. Well, I will endeavour to replicate Mr. Potter's exceptional teaching methods," he said, with a trace of sarcasm. "I bid you good day, Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley." Giving a mock bow, the short man walked away.

"What was that about?" asked Ron, peeved.

"I was afraid of this," said Hermione glumly. "Of course he feels threatened by Harry. And the DA."

"We need to get our books," urged Harry, noticing Mrs. Weasley across the room with Ginny's list almost completed. Ron and Hermione followed him further into the store. To Harry's relief, all of the textbooks were still available, and he and Ron both returned to Mrs. Weasley with everything they needed.

"Where are yours, dear?" asked Molly, turning to Hermione.

"Oh, I already have them all," answered Hermione. "They made for wonderful reading during the summer."

Mrs. Weasley looked surprised, but, as she was next in line, turned and placed Ron and Ginny's books on the counter to be rung up. "This took less time than I expected," she said over her shoulder to the children. "Would you like to visit Fred and George?"

"Yes!" they all said in unison.

"After all, Harry hasn't seen their shop," she added, rummaging through her pocketbook for the sum. "It isn't very big, but they've put quite a bit of effort into it," she said with grudging pride.

"It's brilliant!" enthused Ron. "Wait 'til you see it."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You do realise that, as prefects, we'll be subjected to whatever horrors they think up all school year."

"Oh, that's right," said Ron, suddenly looking apprehensive.

"At least you'll know how they work," said Harry. "I'm sure the inventors will help you out."

"Or give us free samples," said Ron hopefully.

"More likely than not, they'll make you test subjects for their latest product," said Ginny.

Harry put his stack on the counter and paid the flustered clerk. Getting his change and wrestling the books under his arm he followed them out into the brilliant midmorning sunshine.

They wandered down the street, and Harry took in the familiar sights and sounds of Diagon Alley with a sense of delight. He felt oddly free again, as if he had spent the summer underwater. _I hope Dumbledore will have time to speak to me again soon_, he thought. There were so many unanswered questions.

They rounded a corner, and Harry gasped.

"Wait 'til you see the inside!" gushed Ron.

"Wow!" said Harry. In front of him was Fred and George's joke shop, squeezed in between two other buildings that seemed to glare disapprovingly at it. A sign proclaiming "Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes" in bright orange with a small number ninety-three flashing underneath dominated the space above the door. Even more impressive were the two life-size glowing figures of Fred and George flanking the sign and demonstrating the merchandise. They were currently engaged in setting off fireworks, much to the delight of the small crowd of children watching. As Harry looked, the apparition of Fred turned and winked at him.

The windows were filled with eye-catching displays of every kind, with one devoted entirely to their collection of consumables. Placards explained in bright letters the effect of each snack. Harry just stood, open mouthed, as the George figure suddenly demonstrated a particularly noisy trick Howler.

"C'mon!" urged Ron gleefully. "Let's go in!"

It was crowded inside, and Harry saw Fred and George behind the counter with Lee Jordan frantically trying to wait on all of the customers. He noticed Mrs. Weasley whispering something to Mr. Weasley, a smile on her face. Harry felt relieved that she seemed to be warming up to the joke shop now that it was successful.

"Look at this!" said Ron enthusiastically. "They've been experimenting—this is one of their newest—a portable ice-skating rink. Like their portable swamp—can you imagine this in a corridor? Everyone sliding like mad—"

"Ron! Look!" interrupted Ginny. "They have new Wildfire Whiz-Bangs—there's a lion for Gryffindor, a snake for Slytherin—they roar and everything!" Hermione looked at her disapprovingly. "Oh, Hermione, they're fun! I hope George gives me one."

"It's...amazing," breathed Harry. "It's better than Zonko's."

Ron grinned widely. "And they'll do custom work, if you know what I mean..."

Hermione looked horrified. "Oh, no, just what we need. The prefects are going to go insane this year!"

"Glad I didn't make prefect, then," said Ginny airily. "I've got to keep my wits about me for the O.W.L.s."

"You're not a prefect?" asked Harry. She shook her head and looked away.

"Harry!" said one of the twins. "So good to see you here! Anything special you're looking for?"

"No, not actually," began Harry, but never got a chance to finish the thought because he was immediately dragged around the store and given an exhaustive tour from Lee. Ginny tagged along, bouncing excitedly from display to display. By the end his hands were full of dungbombs and fireworks, and the twins rang up his purchase with a special discount "for a fellow mischief-maker".

"Are you ready for lunch?" beamed Mrs. Weasley.

Harry's stomach growled, and he realised he had missed breakfast somehow. "That would be great, Mrs. Weasley," he said.

"Yes, you look terribly thin, Harry dear," she said. "Come along, Tom mentioned he had quite a meal in store for us. Hermione—Ron—" she called out to the two, who were arguing over a particularly large display of Doubly Disastrous Dungbombs. They turned and followed them out the door.

Tom greeted them warmly, and the meal was better than he imagined. He filled up his plate three times with all the delicious edibles, and Mrs. Weasley took them to Fortescue's for ice cream afterwards.

"I couldn't eat another bite," groaned Ron, looking morosely at his half-eaten sundae. Ginny was still attacking her own dessert, while Hermione was flipping through Ron's copy of Protecting Yourself: The Defensive Art of Amulets. "I'm stuffed."

"Who were you talking to in the bookstore?" asked Ginny.

"The bookstore?" said Harry, puzzled.

"That short man. In the checkered suit."

"Oh, that was the new Dark Arts bloke," said Ron, still staring at his rapidly melting ice cream with a longing look. "Seemed a bit...I dunno..."

"Pretentious," snorted Hermione as she suddenly stopped at a page with an illustration of a dog wearing a collar. "He doesn't like you, Harry. I just hope that he won't be as much trouble as that horrid Umbridge woman."

"No one could be as much trouble as her," shivered Ron. "Nasty as they come."

"At least we'll be able to play Quidditch this year," said Ginny brightly. "I'm really looking forward to trying out for Chaser." Harry realised with a start that he hadn't played for nearly a year. Even though he figured they'd let him back on the team again he still felt a thrill of fright at the thought of someone else taking the Seeker position.

"What's so great about that book?" demanded Ron.

Hermione looked up, nonplussed. "For your information, it is a very practical and detailed primer for creating defensive amulets. Professor Dumbledore was right to enroll us all in this class. We're going to need them—they protect against all kinds of offensive magic. There are some that block the Impediment Curse...some that reflect hexes back on the caster—"

Ron whistled. "Sounds helpful."

"So everyone in the DA was automatically put in the class?" asked Harry.

"Didn't you read the letter? Only sixth and seventh years can attend it. The magic is very complicated. First you have to ensure that the item you are turning into an amulet can contain the magic. Then you have to mold it into a proper receptacle for magic energy." Hermione's eyes practically glowed with excitement while Ron's glazed over. Harry's spirits fell. Obviously it was going to be a difficult class.

"I wonder if they'll offer it next year as well," mused Ginny.

"I suppose it depends on the teacher," said Hermione, closing the book.

Mr. Weasley approached them. "We still need to stop at Madam Malkin's," he said brightly. "Are you all ready?" They rose to their feet, Hermione closing the book and carrying it under her arm. "We'll be staying here tonight with you, Harry, and then tomorrow we'll get to King's Cross to see you off."

_King's Cross_, thought Harry. _Hogwarts._ _Home_. He was suddenly very happy.


	7. A Troubled Night's Sleep

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

**

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Severus closed the door to his suite of rooms. A small wave of relief flowed over him as he realised that he'd returned safe once again to the quiet embrace of his study. Being called to a Death Eater meeting had not been entirely a surprise. Harry Potter was returning to Hogwarts, the Dark Lord was mostly recovered, and it was time again to decide on the newest method of the boy's disposal. He shivered in spite of himself. What would happen should the Dark Lord succeed in his plans...

He sat down heavily in a chair and poured out a large tumbler of Old Ogden's. The tea in Dumbledore's office just hadn't been strong enough. He needed something to take the edge off the night's tension. As he drank he replayed the meeting over and over in his mind, trying to tease out the shape of the Dark Lord's latest plan. Unfortunately, he did not have enough information; both he and Dumbledore had been regrettably unable to guess the next move, though parts of it were clear. Harry Potter had to die, of course, and everyone knew of the general ideas regarding Muggles, but many of his other plots were only discussed with the individual Death Eaters involved in them.

Also thought-provoking was that he'd been dismissed relatively early from the Death Eater meeting. It troubled him. He'd had to suffer through some "entertainment" first. Bloody entertainment it'd been, of course; bloody enough that he was still sickened by it even now, but thank Merlin nothing had been sent his way. Later he understood why he'd been excluded; the Dark Lord had given him centre stage and interrogated him on the new teachers while one of the Death Eaters was busy slowly dispatching some unfortunate. The Dark Lord asked a great deal of questions about Silas in particular. He did not seem quite as interested with Sarah; he'd expressed concern about her knowledge of the Death Eaters, whether she intended to stir up trouble for Malfoy or Macnair, or even with Dumbledore regarding himself, but appeared satisfied when he said that Dumbledore had convinced her that he was no threat, and she had made no motion in the last two weeks towards implicating the other two.

He took another long pull of the firewhisky and tried to array his thoughts once again. Why would the Dark Lord be so interested in Silas? The man was a bit of a nuisance, but seemed of no further value. Even Dumbledore had seemed perplexed. Yet Severus had been forced to recite any detail, regardless how trivial. What if he had told too much, and now the man's life was in danger? His head was beginning to throb, and he remembered that tomorrow was the Sorting Ceremony, and he had many last minute things to attend to, and he needed to sleep. Yes, sleep, there was nothing else to gain from staying awake, his mind was too full of conjecture about sinister plans and the scenes of Muggle torture that he had witnessed. Thank Merlin most of the other Death Eaters were still in Azkaban, or it would have been worse.

He sighed deeply and finished the last of his drink. If he could get to sleep now, he still had time for a decent night's rest before the dunderheads arrived. The firewhisky rushed through his veins, slowly loosening his taut body. He hoped he would not have to take a Dreamless Sleep potion, but he knew it was inevitable.

* * *

Sarah checked the amulet again, carefully examining it in detail while she hunched over her desk. To the uneducated eye it appeared to be a bit of polished rock on a cord. To her eye, it was spinning and whirling with layer after layer of carefully positioned spells. Several minutes passed as she used her wand to probe the delicately placed magic. Finally she sighed and straightened up, placing the amulet back on her desk again. There was nothing more she could add to it. The only thing lacking was the boy who would wear it.

Her eyes felt hot and dry and she rubbed at them irritably one at a time with her right hand. The small room had gotten too warm again and she checked to be certain that the fire had not been lit by a well-meaning Dobby—no, it was dark. She gestured with her wand and one of the windows creaked open, letting in a cooling night breeze.

Her lesson plan was done, her notes copied and sent to the Headmaster as required, and the amulet was as complete as it could be at this stage. It was quite late, and she knew she needed sleep. Tomorrow the students would arrive and she would begin a new, strange odyssey. Again she wondered at Dumbledore's wisdom. Trust was not an easy thing, after all—yet he seemed to trust her. She could not see deceit in him. Another chance to take, another challenge, another day, another step. What choice was there, really? She had nowhere else to go.

* * *

Dreamless Sleep had long ago stopped working reliably for Severus. Whether it was because he had become tolerant of the formula or whether it was because his dreams had become too formidable to be headed off by anything as simple as a potion he could not tell.

There were some nights that passed by calmly, and he woke rested. There were other nights that he woke considerably worse off than when he had started.

This was one of the latter kind.

The nightmare began innocently enough, winding threads of Hogwarts around him; children blending ingredients, monotonous staff meetings, tea in the Great Hall. But then, as he turned to deliver a lecture on the properties of asphodel, the dungeon walls seemed to quiver and fold, and the frightened countenances of those he had hurt and killed began to appear. He was trapped, held in place, as they circled him, accusing him, howling his name, visiting his sins upon him with a bloodthirsty vengeance, rending him and breaking him, their dead eyes taking no satisfaction, showing no forgiveness.

No matter how many times he dreamt this, it always drove him to the edge.

Yet this time it was different. She stood before him, not in the background, not part of the chorus of dread as she had always been before. She was holding a razor whip, she was older, her green eyes more vivid and real than they had ever been before. Her right hand lifted. The whip came down.

His own scream awakened him. He was still in bed, panting heavily, soaked in sweat, raggedly cursing himself. His lungs felt as if they could not take in enough air. He looked around his innocuous room. There was no Sarah, there were no victims, no Dark Lord finally discovering his traitorous role. There was only him, tired and worn, sleep still far off, the darkness cold and uncomforting.

* * *

Harry tossed and turned, his sleep restless. There was a meeting of some sort, a meeting that he had to prepare for. He had to appear strong. He had to be convincing. He looked down at his pale, spidery hands and viciously cursed the trembling, the last vestiges of weakness wrought by that old fool. Angrily he struck out, knocking over the potion nearby, causing Wormtail to cringe in terror. Even Macnair cowered at his ire. Ah, yes. Macnair. "She has taken refuge within Hogwarts." Macnair looked even more terrified. "Yes, it is your fault. Had you not blundered so alarmingly in Poland, we would have her—and the Stone."

"My Lord—forgive me—"

"_Crucio_!"

Harry woke up panting. In the next bed over Ron was snoring reassuringly.

_I'm safe, I'm here at the Leaky Cauldron, I'm safe_...

It didn't help. He could still feel the curse surge through his wand, feel the dark maelstrom that fueled it, the evil tainting and burning him. His scar hurt terribly.

His mind was afire with dire thoughts. If he could see so clearly what Voldemort was doing, then Voldemort could see—

Voldemort could see _everything_. Dumbledore, the Order, Snape...everything that needed to be kept secret. Harry knew too much.

But—Voldemort hadn't planned this vision, had he? Not like the one with Sirius—this had been unforeseen. And Voldemort was still weak—he clearly remembered his trembling hands—it had to be a good thing. Dumbledore was right. He had to trust Dumbledore.

He pulled the blankets tighter around himself and laid his head on the pillow, trying to empty his mind as Snape had taught him.


	8. Aboard the Hogwarts Express

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

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Sarah entered the Great Hall for breakfast. The circular table was nearly empty. Severus looked up at her from a length of parchment he was perusing and immediately stood up, stashing the document in a pocket of his robe. He strode past her, his long legs carrying him quickly out of the hall, but not before she had a chance to see the dark circles under his eyes and the look of fatigue.

She was too preoccupied with her own thoughts to give any to his haggard appearance. Tonight was the Sorting Ceremony, and tomorrow the halls would be flooded with students. She approached the table and sat down slowly.

The only other professors at the table were Sybill and Pomona. Sybill looked completely miserable and was eyeing the congealed eggs on her plate with an expression of sublime suffering. Pomona was ignoring her completely and focused on an edition of _Night Blooming Herbs and How to Encourage Them_. No doubt she'd already been up early in the morning and had done work in the greenhouses before coming down for her second breakfast.

Sarah spooned porridge out carefully into a bowl. The lack of professors made her less self-conscious and she was privately relieved. The ceiling yet again reflected the beautiful late summer day outside.

Sybill made a pathetic sniffling noise and got up and left, muttering something about a burden under her breath. Sarah mentally shrugged and went back to her porridge, idly thinking about the upcoming day. Her classroom was as complete as she could make it, her office prepared, and her private rooms as well shielded as possible. All that was left was to speak to the Headmaster about arranging her meeting with the Potter boy.

Pomona closed her book with a snap and stood up to leave, giving Sarah a perfunctory nod. Sarah nodded in return and listened to the Herbology teacher's footsteps as they faded away. Alone now, she contemplated the leftover dishes and food on the table and remembered that tonight they would be setting up the House tables and she would be sitting with the rest of the professors at the head table. She grimaced at the thought of being the object of so much attention, but there was no way around it. She was a teacher now, and expected to fulfil certain obligations.

The porridge had grown cold, and her mercurial appetite fled, leaving her slightly nauseated at the thought of eating more. She began the labourious process of standing up. There was time enough for one last test of the amulet and perhaps a conference with the Headmaster before she would have to join the professors for the unofficial staff luncheon, at which any last minute announcements and crises would be resolved. Minerva had made it clear that she was expected to attend and made it even clearer not to be late. Sarah grimaced and walked out of the empty hall, back to her quarters.

* * *

Platform 9 ¾ was filled with the noise and bustle of returning students. Harry grinned as he watched nervous first years clinging to their parents. He was eager to get on the Hogwarts Express. The sooner he got to school, the better.

Ron and Ginny were saying their goodbyes to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and Hermione was hugging her parents. He was glad that the Weasleys had taken him to the platform instead of the Dursleys. Hedwig hooted excitedly in her cage.

Mrs. Weasley suddenly hugged him, her face beaming. "Oh, take care of yourself Harry," she said warmly. "We're hoping to see you during the holiday..." She let go and wiped her eyes.

"Er...great," said Harry, as the whistle to board the train sounded.

Mad-Eye Moody looked at Mr. Weasley. "Job's nearly done...we need to have that talk..." Mr. Weasley nodded.

"Come on, Harry," said Hermione, grabbing the handle to her cart and walking away briskly. "Ron's almost on board already. And you need to get a compartment before they all get taken—"

Harry remembered suddenly that, as prefects, Ron and Hermione were expected to meet at the front of the train and receive instructions. "I wonder which fifth years have been made prefect this year," he said as he lifted his trunk, which had been made regular size again by Mrs. Weasley. Hermione wasn't listening, though; she was too busy scanning the throng of students. He saw Ron inside the train, making his way forward.

"We'll see you soon," said Hermione, speeding off as Harry clumsily pulled his heavy luggage into the aisle.

Ginny looked at Harry. "Prefects," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Harry! Ginny!" said Neville enthusiastically.

"Oh, hi, Neville," said Harry, smiling. The anticipation of returning to Gryffindor Tower was beginning to build, and he felt more and more happy. Ginny muttered something as she attempted to pull her recalcitrant luggage.

"I've got a compartment already," Neville continued, and pointed towards an open door.

Harry nearly dropped Hedwig's cage as Ginny collided with him from behind, and only Neville's quick grab saved the snowy owl from a fall. She hooted irritably. "Thanks, Neville," murmured Harry. He followed him into the compartment. Luna Lovegood stared at Harry as he entered and stashed his trunk and turned to help Ginny. He noticed that Luna was wearing earrings that looked suspiciously like clusters of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, and she was reading a new edition of the Quibbler.

"Look at my _mimbulus mimbletonia_!" said Neville proudly. "It grew all summer. Professor Sprout will be impressed! It's nearly ready to breed."

Harry looked at the large, ugly, cactus-like plant, and nearly shuddered at the thought of it doing anything, much less making more like itself.

"It looks—er—healthy enough," said Ginny, trying not to giggle.

"Hello Luna," said Harry. It felt nice to see her again. She had turned out to be a good ally in the Department of Mysteries, and he felt gratitude towards her and the DA. After all, people who believed him and trusted him were kind of scarce.

"Hello, Harry," said Luna dreamily. "Hello, Ginny."

"Hello." Ginny plopped down on the seat next to her. The train gave a last, shrill whistle, and began to move. Harry sat down as well. Ginny turned and leaned out the window, waving to her parents.

"See you!" Harry called out, waving as well. The train went round a bend and they faded from sight.

He sat down once again. His heart was filled with joy. At last he was returning to Hogwarts, his true home. Soon he'd be drinking pumpkin juice, watching the Sorting Ceremony, and then trooping off to sleep on his very own four-poster bed at the top of Gryffindor Tower...

The compartment began to fade, and he felt as if he was dreaming. There was something reaching out to him, he could sense the flash of a serpent, a high, shrill voice—

"Harry! Wake up!" laughed Ginny. "We've been on the train for, what, ten minutes, and you're asleep already!"

Harry blinked, alarmed. Voldemort. He was waking, he was going to come after him, he was going to destroy his life, his friends, everything—

"Harry?" asked Ginny uncertainly. "Are you all right?"

"Y-yes," he said, trying to stay calm. "Yes, I'm fine." _As soon as I can talk to Dumbledore, I will be_, he added privately.


	9. The Sorting Ceremony

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

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Sarah felt her eyes glazing over as she struggled to pay attention to Silas as he continued to speak loudly to the assembled instructors at the staff luncheon about teaching at some of the most exclusive schools and households of Wizarding Britain. Even Dumbledore seemed hard-pressed to keep an interested expression on his face—the new Defence teacher had been talking for nearly fifteen minutes without interruption. She took another sip of water and tried to shift slightly, which brought a new round of pain and took her attention away entirely for a moment. Silas must have finished at that minute, because Minerva was saying, "Quite so, and now let's give Albus the floor, shall we?" and everyone was turning expectantly towards the Headmaster.

Dumbledore smiled, looking very much at ease. She was impressed by the tight control he exhibited at all times. The power he had was nothing short of awe-inspiring, yet here he was, at a school, teaching children. She picked up the goblet again and took another sip, and found that her water had turned itself to some sort of cloyingly sweet juice. She grimaced. _Someone's idea of a trick?_ she wondered to herself, and took a surreptitious glance around. Perhaps it was just an exuberant house elf, horrified that she would drink plain water.

"This year, we will face many challenges," said Dumbledore. "I trust that you will all support one another in all our endeavours. Do not hesitate to come to me for further assistance. My office is always open to all of you." He lifted his goblet. "To Hogwarts—another year of dreams fulfiled."

"Here, here!" called out the rest of the teachers. Sarah raised her goblet with the rest of them, and took another sip of the juice. Really, it was odd—how had it been switched? She tried to think of the proper incantation, but Transfiguration had been one of her poorer subjects, and she couldn't remember it.

"I see you were thirstier than you originally believed," said Filius Flitwick next to her.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked, confused.

"Your water, perhaps, was not to your liking?" he continued with a hint of a smile.

She looked at the goblet, and realised she'd picked up his pumpkin juice by mistake. "Oh, I'm so terribly sorry."

He waved dismissively. "Don't worry, Sarah. A simple enough error."

"I would like you all to double-check the final timetable before you leave the hall," continued the Headmaster. "Please be very certain that the classes are laid out to your satisfaction. If there are any last complaints"—he looked at Silas—"they should be directed to Minerva. And one last mention. The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, will be visiting the school very soon at the behest of the Board of Governors. I'm certain that you will all do everything in your power to make him feel welcome."

Minerva looked at him askance. "Fudge? Here? Whatever for?"

"Some of the members of the Board have been replaced recently," answered Dumbledore. "The new members are asking questions, and they have demanded that Fudge personally investigate the answers."

"Will he be looking into the background of current instructors?" asked Silas innocently. Sarah narrowed her eyes. What was he playing at? She noticed Severus staring at the Defence teacher with the same expression.

"I believe that he will be checking the wards and defensive spells of Hogwarts itself, to ascertain their thoroughness," said Dumbledore. "It is of paramount importance that our children be safe here, after all."

"When will he be here?" asked Filius.

"Quite soon. Most likely within the week." He took one last look at the assembled teachers. "And that concludes our staff luncheon. I will see you all at the Sorting Ceremony tonight. If you will excuse me, I have a few last-minute matters to attend to." He turned and walked out of the hall, the silver stars on his robes gleaming in the midday sun.

Looking around the table, Sarah noticed that Minerva looked worried and cross at the same time. Silas approached the Transfigurations professor with a small piece of parchment and Sarah could hear him saying something about a free period. Sarah picked up her goblet and took another sip of water. The little that she'd been able to eat was not sitting well. Filius and Pomona were talking in disgruntled tones on her right about Fudge, and on her left Aurora was studiously examining a raspberry scone. Severus suddenly stood up and strode out of the hall, which was the cue for several of the other teachers as well. She took one last sip of water and followed their lead. She was not able to completely suppress worried thoughts about the Minister's visit. If he found out her secrets—if he knew—she was not certain that Dumbledore could protect her from the immediate dismissal that she guessed would follow. She sighed and continued her slow progress, stepping into the entrance hall. Tonight would be exhausting.

* * *

Harry disembarked from the Hogwarts Express and drank in the wonderful sight of Hogwarts. For a moment all of his worries and sadness melted away, and he was just Harry, happy to be home again. He heard the familiar voice of Hagrid calling out "Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"

Ginny was pulling her trunk along determinedly. "Where have Hermione and Ron gone?"

"I don't know," answered Harry. "Let's find a carriage." Ginny nodded at him, but suddenly her expression became grim. Draco and his pet thugs Crabbe and Goyle were walking by silently. He steeled himself for their usual name-calling and insults, but was surprised when he only received an icy glare.

_His father must still be in Azkaban_, he realised. With a grin he turned back to Ginny, who raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, there you are Harry!" said Hermione breathlessly. "Ron's gotten a carriage—let's go—" Without another word Harry and Ginny followed her. The thestrals stood at the front of each carriage, watching him with their blank white eyes. He wondered which one had taken him and Dumbledore to Diagon Alley. Ron was standing outside the next carriage, and he helped them load their luggage in.

"I'm starved!" said Ron, settling into his seat.

"I still can't believe they made Colin Creevey a prefect," moaned Hermione once the door was shut. "Honestly, what were they thinking?"

"Are you still going on about that?" grumbled Ron.

"And why not Ginny?" she continued, ignoring him. "Why this Carolina girl? She doesn't seem the prefect type."

Harry looked at Ginny, who said, "Oh, enough about that prefect nonsense. I just want to hear a new Sorting Hat song and have some dinner."

Hermione looked a little shocked at Ginny's comment, but said nothing more about prefects.

"I hope we get some good players at the tryouts," said Ron. "With two spots open we'll need some good flyers."

"We need new Chasers," said Harry thoughtfully. "I wonder who's going to try out."

Hermione looked distinctly bored as they continued their discussion, racking their brains for any Gryffindors who could sit a broom well. The carriage came to a halt, and they all piled out, Ron still arguing heatedly that a Chaser was no where near as important as a Keeper. They pulled their luggage into the entrance hall and left it there.

"Really, any git who can stay on their broom for more than a minute can be a Chaser," said Ron loftily.

"Stuff it!" hissed Ginny. "Did you forget I was trying out for Chaser?"

Ron looked stricken. "Oh, sorry, Gin, I didn't mean—"

"Shhh!" said Hermione irritably. They went into the hall and sat down at the Gryffindor table between the Creevey brothers and Lavender Brown. Harry immediately scanned the staff table. As usual, Professor Flitwick was deep in conversation with Professor Sprout, with Professor Sinistra leaning forward to add in her comments. Professor Snape sat next to them, coldly surveying the hall. Professor McGonagall's chair next to Dumbledore's was empty, as she was probably shepherding the first years from the boats.

"There's Professor Marten," said Hermione. "That must be the Talismans instructor next to him."

Harry looked next to the ginger-haired man and saw a rather unremarkable witch dressed in charcoal grey robes sitting stiffly in her chair. She seemed indifferent to the noise and bustle echoing in the Great Hall. She held her left arm close to her body, and as Harry watched she reached out and picked up a goblet with her right hand, taking a small sip.

"She looks...unwell," said Hermione hesitantly.

"She looks boring, is what she looks like," said Ron. "Aw, bring on the Hat already, I'm starving!"

"A little decorum, if you please," said Nearly Headless Nick.

"After I eat!" said Ron.

"We could only be so lucky," muttered Hermione. Harry nearly laughed but managed to suppress it.

Suddenly the hall grew silent, and Harry turned to see McGonagall leading in the first years. As they filed past, he couldn't help but think again how small they seemed. He remembered how scary the Sorting Hat had looked, and the fear that he might be put in Slytherin...

McGonagall placed a stool in front of the line of first years, and the Sorting Hat on that, stepping back. A rip near the brim of the hat suddenly opened, and Harry leaned closer, waiting for the song.

_A thousand years I've sorted here,_

_By the Founding Four's decree;_

_I've sorted you into the proper House,_

_It's where you belong, you see._

_But now we've stepped on dangerous ground;_

_I've seen the dark rise anew,_

_And trouble us with strife_

_While hopes remain too few._

_But if you stand together strong_

_And keep your hearts good and true,_

_You'll triumph over all once more_

_And earn yourself all that's due—_

Ron elbowed Harry. "Oh, no! Peeves!" he whispered, pointing at the poltergeist, who was circling above them with what suspiciously looked like inkwells in his hands.

"He wouldn't dare disrupt a Sorting Ceremony," hissed Hermione. "Look, the Bloody Baron's seen him."

True enough, the Slytherin ghost was looking balefully at Peeves, who suddenly flew off. The hall broke out into applause, and McGonagall called the first name out.

"He's gotten too bold," said Hermione in a low voice. "Last year's business with Umbridge has gone to his head."

"Great," said Ron darkly. "Just what we need. More Peeves."

Nearly Headless Nick shushed them irritably, and clapped enthusiastically as the next student was assigned to Gryffindor. Harry found himself looking at the head table again, and noticed that Snape was staring at the new Talismans teacher with a very odd expression on his face. Ron's stomach rumbled and distracted him.

McGonagall read off the last name, and the young girl visibly trembled as the Hat was placed upon her head. "Slytherin!" it called out, and the Slytherins cheered.

Dumbledore stood up, and Ron picked up his knife and fork in happy anticipation. "Let the feast begin!" proclaimed the Headmaster.

Suddenly the plates began to fill with food. Harry smiled at the gasps of the newcomers. Everything looked delicious. He filled his goblet with pumpkin juice and began to fill his plate. Ron began to stuff his face so rapidly that Hermione became alarmed and threatened to hex him.

Harry filled his plate as many times as he could, until he had finished the last of his chocolate gateau. He was so full he wasn't sure he could ever eat again. Ron sat back with a completely contented look on his face. Harry looked up, and smiled at Hagrid, who waved back.

Dumbledore stood up, and the small amount of chatter ended. "And now, the start-of-term notices. First years must remember that the Forbidden Forest is just that—forbidden. Mr. Filch demands that I remind you of the list of items that are not permitted in the castle. You can read it for yourself, as it is tacked to the door of his office, and most of the corridor next to it as well.

"I would like to bring your attention the new staff appointments. We are delighted to introduce a special visiting teacher, Professor Tanner, who will be instructing sixth and seventh years in the art of creating talismans. We would also like to introduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Marten."

The students clapped politely. Unexpectedly, Professor Marten got to his feet. "Thank you all," he said brightly. "I have taught at many exclusive Wizarding schools here in Britain, and I daresay you'll all find my instruction satisfactory, as I am a fully qualified Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor. I look forward to teaching all of you, and I must thank Headmaster Dumbledore for providing me with this opportunity." He sat back down. Snape stared at him with an expression of distaste. Professor Tanner had not moved a muscle.

Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, surprised that, again, a new teacher had actually spoken up.

"He has to say that," said Hermione in a low voice, "because of you, Harry. He wants everyone to know that he's the only instructor...I think he's going to be trouble."

"Time to go," said Colin Creevey brightly. "We have to show the first years how to find Gryffindor Tower. Isn't this great?"

Ron sighed. "Great, yeah."

Harry stood up and looked at Ginny, who was yawning. He, too, was feeling distinctly tired, and as he stood there, he could suddenly feel something reaching out to him, a feeling of cold, dark power—

"Harry, are you ready?" asked Ginny. "We might as well go to our dorms."

He couldn't help but worry. What could Voldemort see through him? Could he see his friends? Would he find his weak points and use them against him? A chill burst of anxiety gripped him, and as he followed Ginny to the Gryffindor common room, he wondered again if it was worth it, if putting everyone he loved in danger just so that he could be at Hogwarts wasn't tremendously selfish after all.


	10. The Headmaster's Office

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

**Author's note**: Thank you for reading. I have a twelve page detailed outline and I am nearly finished with page three, so hopefully that fact will allay any fears that this is just a never-ending WIP. I'm sorry if some of the earlier chapters were a little dry---I wanted to set up all of the background material to make it as realistic a sixth year fic as possible. I hope you're enjoying reading it as much as I am enjoying writing it.

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Breakfast found Harry happily buttering a scone, all thoughts of stale birthday cake banished. His dreams had been unremarkable, and, truth be told, he was looking forward to a year without Snape, even if it did destroy his chances of becoming an Auror. It was going to be a good year, if he could just talk to Dumbledore and work on his Occlumency lessons. He poured more orange juice and tried not to watch as Ron gulped down his food with a practically indecent enthusiasm.

"I heard from Lavender that she's a former student," said Hermione.

"Who?" asked Harry, confused.

"Professor Tanner. The Talismans instructor." She sipped her orange juice thoughtfully. "I wonder what year she was in."

Harry looked at the teacher in question, and shrugged. "Looks like a Hufflepuff to me. Maybe the Fat Friar would know."

Hermione looked at him, surprised. "What a great idea!" She would have leapt up right then and there if McGonagall hadn't been passing out timetables.

Ron was staring at the new teacher. "She seems..." He seemed to be searching for the right word. "Sad. Or something."

Hermione looked at him. "I thought you said she looked boring."

"Well, she did," he said defensively.

Professor McGonagall handed them their timetables. Harry took his and nearly fell off the bench. "What? Potions?" he asked, incredulous.

The corner of McGonagall's lips twitched, as if she was trying to conceal a smile. "I had a little talk with Professor Snape and...convinced him to let you try," she said quietly. "But I must warn you that he will not tolerate any work of substandard quality, and he will personally expel you from his class if you show any signs of slipping. If you need any help, please speak to me at once." She paused again, and looked at Ginny and Ron. "And good luck with Quidditch this year. I don't need to remind you how nice the Quidditch cup looks inside my office..." She walked off.

Ron turned to Harry, ecstatic. "You're in Potions, mate! That's brilliant!"

Hermione looked worried. "But you'll be taken out of class if anything happens...promise me you'll study harder this year, Harry! If you aren't allowed to take the Potions N.E.W.T. you won't get far—"

Harry looked at the head table, and Snape glowered at him. He felt the most alarming mix of sensations; giddiness that Professor McGonagall had somehow outmanoeuvreed the hated Potions professor, and gloom about another year in his most dreaded class.

"Double Charms...Talismans...Herbology...today isn't too bad," muttered Ron.

"No Divination?" teased Hermione.

"Yeah, well, at least we get a break," said Ron. "You have to go to Arithmancy, while we can relax."

"You mean prepare for Potions," she answered.

"But we don't have Potions until Friday," said Ron.

"Then you'll be that much more prepared," replied Hermione.

"Tryouts for Quidditch are Friday night," said Ginny casually.

"Who'd you hear that from?" asked Ron.

"I decided it," she replied in the same casual tone.

Ron and Harry looked at each other. "Did the new captain ask your opinion?" asked Harry.

"No," she said exasperatedly. "I _am_ the new captain."

Ron's horror-stricken expression was so laughable that Harry had to struggle to conceal his mirth. "You?" Ron spluttered.

"Yes, me," she said. "I have time. After all, it's not like I'm a prefect or anything." She drank a little pumpkin juice. "McGonagall let me know this morning...I'll have to start coming up with defensive plays..."

Ernie Macmillan sat down next to Harry. "When are the meetings going to begin again?" he asked in a low voice.

"What meetings?" said Harry.

"The DA," said Hermione, unfolding her Daily Prophet.

"Er...I thought—well, that is..." Harry began lamely. They all stared at him. "I thought we weren't going to—well, we have a new professor, and that was the reason we started, wasn't it? That we needed competent instruction."

"Harry," hissed Hermione, clearly upset. "We can't stop now. There is still danger—he's still out there, and this would be a valuable resource for everyone! We could discuss what's happening—we could find out new methods of resistance..."

"Well...if it is that important," said Harry, still unsure. "But...maybe we should wait and see what Professor Marten's class is like first. I don't want to cause any more trouble." He thought of the friends who had helped him, who could have died at the Department of Mysteries, and suppressed a shiver.

Professor McGonagall suddenly leaned in next to Harry. "The Headmaster wishes to see you in his office now. You're to be excused from Charms." Harry jammed the last of the scone in his mouth and took off after the Transfigurations professor, waving goodbye to his friends.

"Chocolate Frog," she said when they had reached the gargoyle who guarded the stairs to Dumbledore's office. "Off you go," she said, shooing him onto the stairs, and then turning back into the corridor.

Up he went, through the oaken doors, and into the Headmaster's Office.

Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, his eyes twinkling. "Ah, Harry," he said warmly. "Please sit down. Lemon drop?"

"Yes, please," said Harry, taking one from Dumbledore's outstretched hand.

"I've called you here to discuss some very important things, Harry," began the Headmaster. "Our new Talismans instructor is creating an amulet for you. A very powerful amulet that may help to block out Voldemort's influence. It is nearly ready." He fixed Harry's eyes with his own piercing blue ones. "She is not a...conventional witch, Harry, and there will be a need for you to do an unconventional thing to finish the amulet and seal it to yourself. I don't want you to become alarmed, but she will need a drop or two of your blood."

"My blood?" echoed Harry.

"Yes," answered Dumbledore simply. "Then the amulet will be tuned to you and no other. She will speak to you today about setting up a time and place to finish her work."

"Oh...okay," he said, feeling uneasy. What sort of magic would need blood? He couldn't imagine any.

"And I also must tell you, regrettably, that the Room of Requirement has been sealed off."

"Sealed off?" Harry stared at him, aghast. "But why?"

"There is too much potential for...misuse," said Dumbledore carefully. "There are some here at Hogwarts who now know of its secrets, and it could be a dangerous room in their hands."

Harry nodded glumly. Malfoy, of course.

"On a more positive note," continued the Headmaster, "I am giving you full permission to continue with your Defence Association. However, times being what they are, I must ask that you do so with adult supervision."

Harry felt the blood draining out of his face. "Adult supervision?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes, Harry," said Dumbledore firmly. "The Board of Governors has insisted upon it, and, without a secret room to practice in, you must find yourself an adult here at Hogwarts who will lend you a classroom and chaperone your meetings. Your studies are more advanced now, and you must have someone there who will know what to do in case of an accident. The teachers all have contingency plans, and can be remarkably helpful."

"Would you—"

"I regret that I cannot."

He felt his anger growing swiftly. "But—who would help us? I—"

"I am certain that someone will be able to give you some support in this matter." He paused, and looked even more serious. "Harry, no one wants you to succeed in this endeavour more than myself. But I must warn you that there are enemies and dangers everywhere, even here at Hogwarts, and you must handle this with care. Remember that I am trying to help you. You must see how it looks to an outsider for you to carry on teaching a subject which is already being taught. After your subterfuge was discovered last year there was a terrible outcry."

Harry took several deep breaths. At last he looked again at Dumbledore, but he knew that he couldn't disguise the hurt he felt. "All right," he said. "We'll find a chaperone."

"Excellent," said Dumbledore. "Now off to Charms."

Harry nodded and went back down the staircase, his face flushed. So they were ickle firsties now, and needed a big adult to watch them...he nearly walked right through the Fat Friar, who chastised him soundly about looking where he was going. Something about the Friar jogged his memory, but he couldn't remember what it was, so he kept going, heading to the Charms classroom, where Ron and Hermione had saved him a seat.

"I'll tell you later," he whispered to Hermione after she gave him a curious look.

The class seemed to drag on forever, and Harry was restless after his meeting. Finally Charms was over, and they found Ginny during the break.

"What happened?" demanded Hermione.

"Dumbledore said that the DA can meet," he began.

"Excellent!" said Ron.

"But we have to have adult supervision."

"Oh no," moaned Ron.

"Oh, don't be silly," said Hermione. "We have Dumbledore's sanction. And it is a good idea to have a teacher present, someone who can take care of an emergency—"

"But who?" asked Harry exasperatedly.

"We'll have to ask some of the teachers," said Hermione determinedly.

"Anyone but Snape," said Ron grimly.

"If it comes down to it, we'll ask him too," said Hermione, though she paled a little.

"What?" howled Ron. "No way!"

"Maybe we could ask Professor Marten," suggested Ginny.

"I don't think that would be a good idea," said Hermione. "I think he's definitely got something against Harry. Plus, he would see Harry as competition. Why would we need a DA when we've got a Dark Arts professor already? Plus, we'll be talking about Voldemort, and what's happening in the Wizarding world..."

"So we need someone quiet and unobtrusive," said Ginny.

"Well, yes," said Hermione.

"What about Professor Tanner?" asked Ron.

"Ron, we barely know her!" said Hermione.

"We don't know Professor Marten, either," said Ginny defensively.

"She's—I don't know, there's something creepy about her," said Hermione.

"We'll find out more today," said Harry. "Our next class is Talismans, and I have to make an appointment with her. She's making an amulet for me." He said nothing about the blood. Hermione was obviously uneasy enough already.

"An amulet?" Hermione swung around and faced him. "What amulet?"

"To—er, protect me against Voldemort's influence."

"Did Dumbledore say you should wear it?"

"Of course!" said Harry.

"That would be a difficult amulet to make, and she'd need to have your help as well. Talismans are usually defensive in nature, with—"

"Look, we have her class next," interrupted Ron. "We'll see what she's like there. And I'd rather not be late to the first one..." He gave them all a meaningful look.

"Oh—I need to get to Defence Against the Dark Arts—" gasped Ginny, suddenly taking off.

"Where is the Talismans classroom, anyway?" asked Ron.

"Near the entrance of the dungeons," answered Hermione, giving him a disapproving glare. "Honestly, don't you read any of the bulletins? You are supposed to be a prefect, after all."

"Let's go," said Harry, taking off down the corridor.


	11. The First Talismans Lesson

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

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Harry, Ron, and Hermione barely made it to the Talismans class before the bell sounded. Fortunately, there were plenty of empty seats, and they found three together easily. He saw Malfoy, Goyle, and Crabbe sitting with a few other Slytherins. Neville, Lavender, and Parvati sat on the other side. Harry shivered. It was freezing.

Professor Tanner stood stiffly at the front of the classroom. It was even more obvious to Harry that something was wrong with her left arm; she held it pressed against her robes.

"Good morning class," she said. She flicked her wand and the chalkboard filled with writing. "I am Professor Tanner. Welcome to Talismans class." Someone sniggered on the Slytherin side. Her wand was short, quite possibly the shortest Harry had seen next to Umbridge's wand, which brought up bad memories. "I am in this classroom for one reason, and one reason only: to teach you how to create and purpose talismans and amulets. Who can tell me what an amulet is?" Hermione immediately put up her hand, though no one else did. "Yes, Miss...?"

"Hermione Granger. _An amulet is an item that contains a spell or a number of spells triggered by an outside stimulus or stimuli_."

"Obviously you've read the textbook," said Professor Tanner. "That is quite correct. However, that is an extremely broad generalization, as even Pepper Imps fit that definition." Harry noticed that she was standing completely still. He wondered when she had graduated from Hogwarts and what House she had been in. She seemed a little younger than he had first guessed, with shoulder-length brown hair and pale green eyes. Apart from her nondescript grey robes, the only thing of notice was a disc hanging from a cord around her neck. It was slowly changing colours, from light pink to light orange and back again. "Yes, Mister...?"

"Ron Weasley," said Ron. "Wouldn't that mean even brooms are amulets?"

"Yes, it would." Hermione and Harry stared at him in utter incredulity. In five years at Hogwarts Ron had never voluntarily raised his hand. They looked back at each other and Harry shrugged. "But for this class we are going to add a few words to narrow down the definition even further. In this class we are only going to consider defensive amulets. Has anyone here ever seen or used a defensive amulet?"

Draco raised his hand coolly.

"Yes, Mister...?"

"Draco Malfoy. I've seen dozens of them. Usually they're for bouncing off hexes, but they don't always work."

Harry watched in surprise as Professor Tanner stared at Draco. Her eyes narrowed. "Malfoy," she said, almost to herself. A long moment passed.

"Amulets have to be made properly, or they'll work only intermittently," said Hermione.

"Yes, Miss Granger, that is correct," said Professor Tanner, her attention snapping back to the rest of the class. "Many things can go wrong in the creation and purposing stages. A well-made amulet, however, can last a great deal longer, and that is what we will be creating here." She flicked her wand precisely, and several small items levitated off her desk and began to float towards the class. A few more flicks and they rearranged themselves in front of the desks. "Here are a few different amulets. Study them closely; I'll ask you questions about them in a moment. If you'd like to get closer, feel free, but please don't touch any of them."

The small class all stood up and pressed forward. The amulets hung suspended in midair. Harry noticed that some were large, some small; some were hanging from a chain or cord, and some looked as if they were meant to hook into a buttonhole. Others were just plain polished pieces of rock.

"Mr. Malfoy," said Professor Tanner. For a moment Harry thought he could see some emotion flash on her face, but then she concealed it. "Do not touch." Draco pulled his hand away from the amulet.

"Back in your seats and we'll discuss them." She stood next to the hovering display.

"I wonder why she knows Draco," whispered Hermione. Harry could only shrug.

"Who can tell me which amulet is the most dangerous?" asked Professor Tanner.

Neville raised his hand along with Hermione.

"Yes, Mister...?" she asked.

"Neville Longbottom," he answered. "The one in the corner—the blue one."

"Why do you think it is the most dangerous?"

"It has a skull on it."

"And Miss Granger. Which one do you think is the most dangerous?"

"The amulet third from the end, in the second row," answered Hermione.

"And why...?"

"It is a chimaera's tooth, which is traditionally considered a symbol of the Dark Arts," she answered, blushing a little. Draco made a derisive noise. Professor Tanner's eyes focused on him.

"And which, Mr. Malfoy...would you consider to be the most dangerous?"

"The silver rose on the chain," said Draco casually.

"And why?"

"It's the most innocent-looking."

"Anyone else have guesses?" The class was silent. "None of you are correct. It is this one." She gestured with her wand and a thick silver chain with a silver starfish drifted forward. "The moment it is placed on someone's neck, it casts a Reduction Charm upon itself. The chain has an Unbreakable Charm on it, so the unlucky wearer dies within a matter of moments." Hermione had a look of revulsion on her face and even Ron looked uneasy. "So this is our first lesson. Amulets do not always reflect their purpose, their effect, or even their creator or Purposer. The blue one with the skull on it, Mr. Longbottom, actually repels a very old-fashioned bone-breaking hex. The chimaera's tooth is a trophy, nothing more. And the silver rose is quite a delicate piece of work; it masks the scent of the wearer."

"Who would need that?" asked Nott, who was sitting behind Draco.

"Mr...?"

"Theodore Nott."

"Imagine that you are trapped in the woods with werewolves, and you will begin to understand its value," said Professor Tanner.

Parvati raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss...?"

"Parvati Patil. What does the amulet you're wearing do?"

Professor Tanner fingered the colour-changing disc on her neck. "I purchased this at Diagon Alley," she said. "It was described as a 'Hypno-disq' that would entrance anyone who looked at it too long. I've brought it as another lesson. We'll analyse why it doesn't work and how it could be made to work a little later in the term." She looked back at the floating collection. "Now, I would like to bring your attention to this." She waved forward a simple leather cord with a pendant carved out of shell. "This is a very simple amulet. It only does one thing. When worn, it turns a different colour. This will be your first project. It will give you a good sense of what creating and purposing feel like. We'll start on that in the next class. Your assignment will be to read the first chapter in your book. Unless, of course, you have already done so." Here she looked at Hermione. The class bell rang. "You are dismissed." As the students began to file out, she stopped Harry. "Except you."

"Go on," he said to Hermione and Ron. "I'll catch up."

"We'll save a seat at the table for you," said Hermione.

Professor Tanner closed the door with a flick of her wand, and then motioned again. Abruptly the noise from the hall was completely cut off. "I will only take a moment of your time. I know you are most likely eager to join your friends for lunch. The amulet that Dumbledore asked me to create for you is nearly finished, and he has expressed to me its urgent nature. Therefore we must arrange a time when—"

"He told me you need blood for it," blurted out Harry.

She paused for a moment, unruffled. Her pale eyes stared at him, and he was bizarrely reminded of Luna. "Yes," she answered simply. "The earlier we seal it to you, the better. Would tonight work?"

"Er...yes," he said hesitantly.

"Very well. After dinner, come back to this classroom." The door opened, and suddenly he could hear the usual castle bustle again. "Do not worry yourself unduly. It will take only a minute or two."

"Okay," he said, feeling self-conscious. He walked out into the corridor, feeling vaguely apprehensive about putting an amulet on after hearing about the one with the Reduction Charm. What if she was an agent of Voldemort's? He took a deep breath. No, Dumbledore trusted her, and he had to trust her too. If it meant that he would finally be free of his connection to Voldemort, then he would put it on gladly.


	12. The Amulet

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

**

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Severus was exhausted. It had been a long first day of term, and he'd had little sleep and more worry. His allies were getting scarce. The Minister of Magic had become more and more distant to him since the moment he had shown the Dark Mark in the infirmary a year and a half ago in front of witnesses. Lucius had been sent to Azkaban, thereby unintentionally withdrawing his support. There was a general hysteria in the air following Potter's article, and all of this was beginning to alarm Severus. He knew, of course, to whom his loyalties were bound; but to others his past was suspicious, and he knew instinctively that no one truly trusted him besides Dumbledore. Balancing all of this was beginning to take its toll. Fudge was merely another iron in the fire in some ways, but he certainly had the ability to cause more trouble. And if Severus had guessed correctly about Sarah, then there would be trouble for her as well, and he could only stand back and watch.

He wished for the infernal dinner hour to be over. He wanted nothing more than to return to his rooms and hope for a dreamless night. He was so fatigued he might not even bother with the potion. The students were laughing and carousing as always, supremely unaware of the dangers that surrounded them. Minerva was questioning Dumbledore intensely about Fudge's visit, and who would chaperone him, and was it really wise to have him poking about in the wards. Severus couldn't agree more with her. There was simply too much at stake here to let an absolute idiot mess about with ancient, delicate spells. He desperately wanted to rub his eyes, but there were appearances to keep up. He settled for masking a yawn behind one hand.

Aurora looked at him. "Tired, Severus?" she asked enigmatically.

He turned towards her. "Obviously," he responded curtly.

Dumbledore and Minerva were rising from their chairs. Minerva was wishing him a good night's rest. He nearly sighed in relief—he was free. Giving the student population one last sweeping glare for good measure, he was going to stand up as well, until he heard Silas's voice. A covert glance, and he could see that the new Defence teacher was speaking to Sarah.

Subtly, he murmured an old Slytherin trick, an eavesdropping spell, and Silas's voice became clear.

"...and, you see, to have such quality letters of recommendation from so many of the top schools in Britain...well, certainly this position was a given."

Sarah made no reply, and Severus dared not look to see her expression. Severus hoped that Aurora had not noticed the spell; there was no doubt that she knew it as well, being Slytherin herself.

Silas continued. "Ah, Minerva and the Headmaster have left. Too bad, really, I had a rather witty story that I thought would amuse them involving a chimaera and a phoenix and the logical outcome therein..."

There was another long pause.

"You know, I've had many encounters with Dark Wizards and Witches alike." His voice dropped in volume. "And you most certainly have that...look about you."

"Really." Her voice betrayed no emotion.

"If I am not mistaken...you carry some amulet...some dark artefact with you." He said in a rather mild tone, but Severus had heard enough subtle threats in his life to hear the menace in it.

"Do you really think that the Headmaster would hire me to teach children while carrying on my person some evil relic?" she asked. Severus admired her flat tone.

"When children's lives are at stake, care must be taken."

"I assure you, the children have nothing to fear from me."

"Perhaps." There was a scraping as he pushed his chair away. "I will be seeing you, Sarah." Footsteps trailed away.

Severus turned to see that Aurora had left as well, and he nearly heaved a sigh of relief. He would not have wanted the Astronomy professor to overhear that conversation as well. But he could not help but wonder to which dark artefact Silas was referring. He turned and looked at Sarah, who was struggling to stand up without betraying her condition. She returned his gaze, and there was an odd look in her pale eyes. He nodded to her, and she left the table slowly, keeping to the shadows on the side of the hall.

He suppressed a yawn again and stood up. Time to return to the dungeons and hope for the blessed oblivion of sleep.

* * *

"I can't believe Sprout assigned us so much homework," grumbled Ron as the walked through the entrance hall towards the Talismans classroom. "And Flitwick as well...it's our first day back. Couldn't they have waited a bit before dropping it all on us?"

"Just be thankful you don't have Arithmancy," said Hermione crisply as they entered the side corridor where Firenze and Professor Tanner taught. She looked worriedly again at Harry.

"Hermione, I'll be fine," he said.

They stopped in front of the classroom door and knocked. Professor Tanner opened the door and ushered them in.

"Go into my office. I'll join you in just a moment." She shut the door behind them and began to murmur. Hermione lingered as they walked towards the office door, trying to see what she was casting.

Professor Tanner's office was quite spare. There was a desk and chair, and facing them were a couple chairs and a couch that had seen better days. A small bookshelf held a collection of reference books about talismans and amulets. Harry sat in one of the chairs while Ron collapsed on the couch, still muttering under his breath about being crushed with schoolwork on the first day back. Hermione began to study the bookshelf intently.

Sarah entered and closed the door behind her, yet again murmuring a spell. She finished and turned slowly to face the three of them. "Are you ready, Harry?" she asked.

_No chitchat, just straight to the matter at hand_, thought Harry. "Yes," he said.

She picked up a polished stone that hung from a simple leather cord. "This is the amulet I have prepared. It will block some of the connection that passes between the two of you. Note that I say _some_. You may still feel certain rushes of emotion, or pain, but it is my hope that the visual interchange will cease. I will bind it to you here, and you must wear it at all times for it to work." Harry nodded. "Very well. As Dumbledore no doubt informed you, I will need a few drops of your blood."

"What?" blurted out Hermione. "Why do you need that?"

Professor Tanner turned her face towards Hermione. "It is part of one of the spells."

Hermione turned red, but continued. "I've read _Amulets: a Defence Tradition_ and _Specialised__Talismans _and nowhere do they mention blood!"

"I do not have all evening to debate the particulars of this amulet and this set of spells," said Professor Tanner evenly. "Time is of the essence here. The sooner Mr. Potter wears his amulet, the sooner he will find some relief from his current worrisome condition."

Hermione opened her mouth to say something else, but Harry cut her off. "Hermione, it's okay," he said. "Dumbledore trusts her." Hermione apparently thought better of saying anything else. She looked troubled as she sat down on the couch next to Ron. Harry looked back to Professor Tanner.

"I am going to nick your finger, and I will need you to let a few drops fall on the amulet at the proper time," she said. "I will let you know when." In her right hand there was a small silver knife. The blade looked like half of a crescent moon. Harry could see a smooth shiny area on the hilt where her thumb must normally rest. He walked to the desk and held out his hand over the amulet. "Yes, like that...hold your hand steady for a moment..." She murmured something and suddenly the tip of his ring finger felt numb. Quickly she held his arm steady and pierced his fingertip lightly with the sharp blade. He felt nothing as a bright drop of blood appeared. She put her knife on the desk and pulled out her wand, murmuring again, and the blood on his fingertip began to...quiver. It was a strange feeling. The numbness meant that he could see it quivering and pulsing, but he couldn't feel it. Another murmur and a spark or two from her wand and she breathed, "Now, Mr. Potter."

It was rather anticlimactic. The drops of blood fell, drip drip drip, and the amulet vibrated for a moment on the desk, and then was still. He had expected glowing, noises, some sort of magical spectacle. Professor Tanner was leaning heavily against the desk, her eyes closed, her face pale. "Professor?"

She opened her eyes. "It is finished," she said softly. "Put it on, and we'll see if anything changes."

"I thought you knew what you were doing—" interjected Hermione hotly.

Professor Tanner looked exhausted. "This is not a Feather Levitation Charm, Miss Granger. It is a complicated..." She lowered herself slowly into a chair and looked as if she was about to pass out. Harry picked up the cord and looked at the polished stone critically. It was a dull dark bluish purple. "Go on. You can touch the stone, it won't hurt you."

"Give it a go," urged Ron. Harry undid the clasp and put it around his neck.

The clasp clicked into place. For a moment nothing happened...and then, abruptly, he felt as if he was miles away. He could vaguely hear Hermione's voice...Ron's urgent shouting...a maniacal, high-pitched shriek...

"Harry! HARRY!" yelled Hermione.

He was looking up at the ceiling of Professor Tanner's office. Ron and Hermione were hovering over him, frightened. "What happened?" he asked, his scar pounding dully.

"You just went limp," said Hermione, her hand clutching his arm so anxiously she was leaving bruises. "And we caught you as you fell—oh, Harry—it must not be working—you should take it off—"

"Mr. Potter," said Professor Tanner, completely ignoring Hermione. "Have you noticed any difference?"

The floor was cold beneath him, and he sat up. Now that his fainting spell was over, he began to notice it.

Voldemort was gone.

He could not feel the serpent that had so often wrapped itself in the shadows of his mind. It was as if his connection to Voldemort had been muffled in pillows. Still there, somewhere, but unable to penetrate. He had not realised how strong it had become, how much Voldemort's anger and venom had twisted within him. He was free, and it felt—incredible.

"Well, Mr. Potter?" She was looking at him, obviously waiting for a reply.

"Thank you," he said fervently. "It's...he's...I can't feel his thoughts anymore!"

"Brilliant!" crowed Ron exuberantly. Hermione still looked worried. Ron turned to Professor Tanner. "Listen, Harry's got this club...the DA...we meet whenever we can to practice spells. But we need a teacher to watch us this year, and a classroom, we can't use the old one—"

"What exactly are you asking?" said Professor Tanner at the same time that Hermione said angrily, "Ron, what are you doing?"

"I'm asking Professor Tanner to be our chaperone, isn't it obvious?" asked Ron.

"We need to discuss it first! You just can't go and ask—"

"Look, if she can cut out—er, who she cut out, then hosting our group'll be easy!" said Ron defensively.

"You should be returning to your dormitories," said Professor Tanner. She looked even more drained. "I will think over your request and give you an answer tomorrow." She flicked her wand and the door opened.

Hermione stalked off without another word. When Harry reached the open door he turned back again. "Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome, Mr. Potter. And please remember—do not take it off."

He followed Ron into the corridor. "What was that about, Ron?" he demanded.

"Well, I just thought, she was...er...I mean..." He took a deep breath. "She made an amulet that blocks _him_! Not many people can say that."

"We still should have talked about it first," said Harry.

"Yeah, but she has loads of free time, and a classroom...and she's not the sort to stand over your shoulder...can you imagine McGonagall watching us? She'd ask a hundred questions. We'd never get anything done!"

"Yes...but still...we should have talked..." He was beginning to see Ron's point, though, and he had to admit that it made sense, but honestly, he felt like he was somewhere else altogether. It felt wonderful to be entirely himself again.

That night, for the first night in over a year, his head hit the pillow without fear. For a moment he simply laid still and cherished the wonderful feeling. He closed his eyes and sank happily into sleep.


	13. An Owl for Hermione

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

**Author's Note: **Thank you to Zeggy, Sky, and Kathryn O'Connell for reviewing. I appreciate it tremendously!

**

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Severus was stirring the fever-reducing potion clockwise in his usual precise fashion, deep in thought.

He could not fathom why the Dark Lord was so interested in Silas. His mind would not leave the issue alone. He needed to know how Silas could possibly be dangerous or useful to the Dark Lord. Certainly the new teacher was at least barely versed in the Dark Arts; even Minerva had said as much. But there was no evidence to suggest any connection or anything even remotely suspicious about him. Severus was frustrated to the extreme.

Though he had never been a member of the "inner circle" of Death Eaters, he still prided himself on being able to piece together information about their plans and deliver the appropriate warnings. In fact, he'd been rather good at it before the first defeat of the Dark Lord. And his second round had begun well.

But he knew, somehow, that things had changed subtly. So many people were dependent on this information, and it could all go wrong so quickly. Somehow it seemed linked back to Silas. The Dark Lord had called Severus to the meeting to find out about the new professor, and he could not understand why. He knew that there was some darker meaning behind this. The Dark Lord never did things without a purpose. The potion changed colour, finally, and he performed a Cooling Charm and began to bottle the liquid.

He yawned and knew that it was definitely time to try to sleep. His mind was running foolishly in circles and he was accomplishing nothing. He would send up the latest supplies to the hospital wing in the morning.

* * *

Sarah knew, instinctively, that she had pushed herself too far. Creating the defensive amulet for Harry had exhausted her. She sat at the desk and rested her head on her arm. The cool night breeze from the open window felt wonderful on her overheated body. Without warning she fell asleep, her tired mind shutting down.

* * *

Harry entered the Gryffindor common room feeling like new. He had overslept a little and most of the Gryffindors had gone to breakfast already. There was a cheery fire blazing and Ron and Hermione were sitting next to each other with their arms crossed, studiously ignoring each other. "G'morning!" he said happily.

"Morning, Harry," said Hermione stiffly.

"What's bothering you two now?" asked Harry.

"He acted ridiculously last night," huffed Hermione. "I think—"

Ron looked at her incredulously. "_Ridiculous_? Even Harry said it made sense—"

"Both of you, stop!" he said loudly. They looked at him resentfully. "Listen, it's done now, and if she says yes, we have a place to practice. We'll just have to be careful about what we say around her, that's all. I think that most of the other teachers would have said no. And can you imagine asking Trelawney? Or Vector? It's better to have asked Tanner, I think." He hoped he sounded convincing, because he still wasn't totally convinced himself.

"But Harry, she's so—we don't know anything about her!" said Hermione worriedly.

Ron looked as if he was going to start arguing again. "I think it'll be fine," said Harry as casually as possible, heading Ron off before he could start another heated debate. "We've really got to get to breakfast—I don't want to be late for our first Defence class—" At that Hermione looked alarmed, and they both stood up.

Even though neither looked fully satisfied, he could tell that they were at least putting it aside for now. Hermione was back to normal, agonising over whether three times through was enough readings for the Defence textbook.

They were so late coming into the Great Hall that as soon as they were seated the mail arrived. Owls swooped overhead, dropping parcels and letters to excited students. A terrible shouting at the Hufflepuff table announced a Howler. An owl dropped a _Daily Prophet_ to Hermione, and Ron was eagerly opening a small package from Mrs. Weasley.

Harry was surprised when another owl swooped down to Hermione and dropped something golden. Who would be owling her? She looked confused as well, and examined the object. It looked remarkably like a Golden Snitch.

"What's that?" asked Ron, tearing his attention away from the tarts his mum had sent.

"I don't know," said Hermione, examining the faux Snitch. "Hmm...it has hinges..." She tapped it a few times with a finger, and then tried to pry it apart.

The Snitch suddenly jumped out of her hand and split open. A head appeared inside. A head with black hair and impressive eyebrows. It began to speak loudly. "Herm-own-ninny, vhere are you? I have missed you. I have owled and owled, yet no reply—"

Hermione turned bright red and grabbed the mock Snitch, slamming it shut. It was too late. The entire Slytherin table broke out into fits of laughter, and even the Gryffindors were finding it difficult to restrain from giggling. Professor McGonagall stared at them disapprovingly from the head table.

"Hey!" said Harry, noticing an empty seat. "Where's Professor Tanner?"

Ron had a strangely smug expression on his face, but it vanished as he scanned the head table. "Maybe she already had breakfast and left," he said, shrugging.

Hermione unfolded her _Daily Prophet_ and attempted to hide behind it. "We're going to be late," came her voice, slightly muffled.

Harry suddenly realised the time and began to bolt his food. No, he did not want to anger Professor Marten any more than possible. He needed to continue getting top marks in his Defence classes if he wanted to become an Auror.

* * *

Severus noticed that Sarah had not shown up for breakfast. As he mechanically ate his eggs his mind wandered. Had she gotten there early and already left? That did not seem to mesh with what little he had seen of her so far. She had been on the late side more often than not.

He already had a headache this morning, a reminder of a near-sleepless night filled with worry-induced bad dreams. He was in a foul mood. Irritably he stabbed his toast in his egg yolk, wishing he had remembered to bring a pain relieving potion with him to the meal.

Potter and his minions suddenly entered the hall, quickly taking their seats.

There was something...different. He noticed it immediately. Potter was happy. It could, of course, simply point to something as brainless as Quidditch, but he was convinced it was more than that. He narrowed his eyes and concentrated. He was not terribly accomplished at Legilimency, but Potter made it easy, radiating his thoughts and moods for all to see. At first he could tell nothing—he was not really close enough, and Potter was not looking at him—but with another minute or two he could immediately tell what had happened.

The Dark Lord's imprint, which had clung to the boy and become stronger and stronger over the last year, had faded. There was some sort of shielding around him—

Abruptly Potter and the others stood up and they left the hall hurriedly. Severus noticed that most of the teachers were gone as well, and he was holding a rather cold and unappetizing piece of toast. With a snarl he dropped it onto the plate and took one last drink from his goblet before heading off to the dungeons. The third year Potions class was assembled already, no doubt. But he had a more pressing matter to attend to. Somehow he needed to get word to the Dark Lord what had happened without giving too much away. As always, he had to consider the implications of every action he took. Information could harm, kill, destroy his cover. He did not have much time to consult with Dumbledore—he would have to send him a message as well—

His mind racing, he took the steps into the dungeon two at a time.


	14. The First DADA Lesson

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

**

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Sarah raised her head. The office was awash with light. She straightened up slowly, carefully, trying to piece together what had happened and why she was sleeping at her desk. She blinked and rubbed her eyes. What had she been doing last night? Ah, the talisman for the Potter boy.

It was fortunate that she had no early classes, because it was already late morning. She still felt drained, despite the long sleep. She needed something to eat. She needed some water to clear her mouth. She rubbed her eyes again and yawned. If she was lucky she could sneak something from the kitchens. She prepared to stand up.

* * *

Harry, Hermione, and Ron rushed into the Defence Against the Dark Arts class with only seconds to spare before the bell rang. The classroom looked mostly the same, except there was a dark curtain at the front of the room walling off a small portion. Harry turned to Hermione, who looked puzzled. Professor Marten was sitting on the edge of his desk, smiling, waiting for the bell, which rang.

"Good morning," he said.

"Good morning," said a few of the students.

"Ah, we'll have to work on that. The correct reply is _Good morning, Professor Marten_. Now let's try this again...good morning, class."

Everyone said, "Good morning, Professor Marten."

"It's wonderful to be teaching here at Hogwarts," he said, smiling. He hopped down from the desk and walked towards the curtain. "Usually I don't teach such large classes. This is a new challenge for me." His tone was lively as he turned to face the class. "Now, I've looked over the records, and they're somewhat...confusing. You have had a lot of upheaval regarding this class in the last five years. It is understandable that some of you may not be up to the high standards that Hogwarts has usually maintained. My goal is to prepare you for your N.E.W.T. in this subject and to get everyone to at least an E, which means we have a lot of ground to cover this term." Hermione looked very happy, unlike the rest of the students. "But, as today is the first day of class, I thought we'd do something unusual." His smile grew wider. "I've taught at many places over the years. The last assignment I had was in a distinctly rural setting, and I came across this fellow. They're notoriously difficult to capture, but I managed to do so. Don't worry, I will be returning him to his natural habitat later. This is a tremendous opportunity for all of you to study this specimen, as he may well be on your N.E.W.T. examination." He gestured and the curtain began to slowly part. "Let's see if anyone can actually identify him..."

The entire class gasped. In the front of the classroom hulked an enormous dark hound, baring its teeth and making horrible noises. A thin chain ran from the floor to a glowing collar around its throat. Even more frightening, Harry could see through the beast. Its shimmering body was like a ghost's, though it seemed slightly more substantial. Its burning green eyes were leaking some sort of phosphorescent substance that gleamed on the floor where it had pooled.

"Any guesses?" asked Professor Marten, looking extremely impressed with himself.

Hermione raised her hand at the same time that Harry did.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"I think it's called a Gytrash," said Harry, remembering it from one of the Dark Arts books from the Room of Requirement.

"Ah, yes," said Professor Marten. "You are quite correct. And what exactly does one do if they encounter such an apparition?"

"Er..." Harry couldn't quite remember. "I think..."

Professor Marten looked even more pleased. "Perhaps there is room for a competent teacher here after all," he said smugly. Harry turned red. Even though most of the class might assume that the teacher was speaking of Umbridge, Harry knew that it was directed at him. The Gytrash snarled eerily and pulled its chain taut. Harry felt his spirits sink as Hermione began to outline how to escape the spectral hound.

* * *

Severus could not keep his mind on the third years in front of him. He knew full well that he could not be included in all discussions of the Order in case he was found out, but he felt a great sense of trepidation about this latest complication. Professor Marten's shielding spell on Potter would be a tremendous problem for the Dark Lord. Severus would be punished severely for not knowing about it ahead of time. He could only hope that his message to Voldemort would allay some of the suspicion and the Cruciatus Curse that were bound to follow.

"Five points from Gryffindor for not paying attention to your own cauldron," he sneered at a frightened student whose potion had turned black and begun to emit foul fumes.

Inwardly he knew that he had to consult with Dumbledore as soon as possible. There were plans to construct. He wanted to pound the desk in frustration. Instead he held his quill so tightly that it snapped in half. Cursing inwardly, he repaired it with a wave of his wand and went back to glowering. The bell could not ring soon enough.

* * *

As the students began to file out of the Defence classroom, Harry noticed Draco talking to Crabbe and Goyle. Elbowing Ron, he nodded in their direction.

"What are they on about now?" whispered Ron.

"Let's find out," said Hermione, who was putting her books away slowly, attempting to buy them time.

The Slytherins came closer, and Harry could hear them say something about Professor Tanner. He looked at the front of the classroom, and noted that Professor Marten was still trying to calm the frenzied Gytrash. He brought his attention back to Draco.

"...Dark Arts. I wonder if she'll teach us...at Durmstrang we would know loads already...haven't learned anything here...Mother says she knows about blood..."

Draco's last words were cut off when Professor Marten loudly and irritably asked Harry if they were planning on staying for the next lesson as well.

"No, sir, we were just going," said Ron, and they hurried out.

"We need to find somewhere to talk," hissed Hermione.

"Myrtle?" asked Ron.

"Yes, let's go," she whispered. They took off for the third floor bathroom. Inside it was quiet. Even Moaning Myrtle seemed to be gone.

"Must be in the lake," said Harry, looking around. It all looked as quiet and desolate as ever.

"What was Draco saying?" demanded Ron.

Hermione looked quite pale. "She's into the Dark Arts! Oh, Ron, why did you have to ask her to chaperone the DA? And now Harry's wearing that amulet—there's no telling what it could do. This is terrible!"

"Dark Arts? What are you talking about?" asked Harry. "How do you know he was talking about Professor Tanner?"

"Don't be stupid. He said her name. Who else would he be referring to? And Narcissa saying something about blood—that can only be Professor Tanner."

"She's a vampire?" said Ron with a confused expression.

"No, she does magic with blood!" wailed Hermione. "Oh, this is awful. We need to stay away from her. Harry, you have to take that amulet off."

"Hermione, you're overreacting!" said Harry. "This is Draco, remember? Since when does he know anything? He could even be deliberately misleading us. And I'm not taking the amulet off. It's working!"

Hermione looked miserable. "She could be working for Voldemort—we don't know anything about her. We can't possibly gather the DA in front of her—she'd know who everyone was! Harry—"

"I thought I was in charge of the DA." Harry was trying to sound calm.

Hermione looked shocked. "You can't put everyone in danger like this!"

Ron looked pale but determined. "I think Harry's right. Dumbledore hired her, he obviously trusts her. And this way we can keep an eye on her."

Hermione looked at Harry, and then Ron. "You're both _mad_!" She walked off looking cross.

"C'mon, we have to get to Transfiguration," urged Ron. Harry nodded and followed, wishing Hermione hadn't made so much sense. He was starting to feel some doubts about the Talismans professor.

* * *

"This is very serious," hissed Severus.

"Yes, I know," answered Dumbledore simply. "But it is better that you know little about this matter. I am quite certain that Voldemort will call you soon enough for an explanation."

"And I will have nothing to say." He scowled.

"Which is as it should be, for now," said Dumbledore firmly. "You'd best be on your way. The bell will be ringing soon."

"Very well." He stood and stalked out of the room, feeling even more fearful. He, too, had suspected that the Dark Lord would call him tonight. Blast! He felt as if everything was spiraling downwards. He was losing his careful grip on events. He only hoped that Silas was worth the havoc he was wreaking.


	15. Threats

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

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Care of Magical Creatures was not going well at all, and it was only their first lesson.

Hagrid looked distinctly glum during the entire class. He seemed uninterested in the hinkypucks that were the subject of their lesson, and kept glancing in the direction of the Forbidden Forest as if hoping to see something. Harry, Hermione and Ron were perplexed by his dour appearance. "We should talk to him when class is over," whispered Hermione.

"We'll be late for dinner!" moaned Ron.

"Honestly, Ron, could you be—"

"Hermione's right," said Harry softly. "We need to find out what's bothering him."

"We could find out just as well after a bite," grumbled Ron, but he said nothing more.

Soon enough the class was finished, and the rest of the students made their way back up to the entrance hall.

Hagrid seemed to cheer up a little when he noticed that they had stayed. "Want a cuppa?" he asked.

"Certainly," said Hermione, giving Ron a glare. Hagrid turned and went into his cabin and they followed. Hermione gave a small gasp.

It was a mess. It looked as if nothing had been cleaned for a month. Dirty dishes were piled up. His giant bed, which had always been neatly made, was dishevelled. Dust coated the floor.

"So...er...how was your summer?" asked Harry.

Hagrid swung a battered tea kettle into the fire. "Fine, fine."

"How's Grawp?" asked Hermione.

Hagrid turned back to look at them, and his eyes filled with tears. Pulling out an oversized handkerchief, he morosely wiped his face. "He's gone. I've bin looking fer him fer the last month, an'—an'—" He blew his nose thunderously. The tea kettle began to whistle, and he turned and took it off the fire. He looked around, but there were no clean mugs nearby, and he started rummaging in cabinets, disturbing small clouds of dust.

"You've looked in the Forbidden Forest, then?" asked Hermione timidly.

Hagrid dabbed his eyes and nodded, finally retrieving a few mostly clean cups and pouring hot water into them. "But enough about tha'. How are yer classes?"

"Great," said Ron, attempting to be enthusiastic. "We've got a new class this year—and we just had our first Defence class with Professor Marten, he showed us a Tygrash."

"Gytrash," corrected Hermione.

Hagrid looked interested. "Really? Hard ter find, them."

"And Harry's got a special amulet now," continued Ron. "Professor Tanner made it."

"Tanner?" Hagrid looked aghast. "What do yeh mean...she's made a wha'?"

"An amulet," said Harry, wondering why Hagrid looked so upset.

"Listen, yeh need ter stay away from tha' one." He looked completely serious. "She's dangerous."

"But Dumbledore hired her," said Harry. "I'm sure he trusts her. Otherwise, he never would have let her come here to teach."

"Dumbledore is a great man," said Hagrid. "But tha' one...she's...er..." He fumbled with the cups he was handing them. "Jus' be careful, tha's all."

* * *

Sarah noticed Potter, Weasley and Granger coming into the Great Hall late for dinner. Her eyes followed them as they sat down at the Gryffindor table. Almost immediately afterwards Potter turned and looked directly at her. She returned his gaze and he suddenly became very interested in filling his plate.

"Something is different about that boy today," said Silas in an innocent tone.

"Really." She tried not to tense at his remark.

"Yes," he continued. "I noticed it today in class. He seems...to be lighter somehow."

"Perhaps you should speak to him about his eating habits," she said, attempting another spoonful of porridge.

"If anyone needs a lecture about their dining practices, it would be you," he said, staring at her with his watery blue eyes. "Porridge morning, noon and night. If you're not careful you'll get scurvy." He looked back at the Potter boy. "I thought I glimpsed some sort of stone around his neck that wasn't there yesterday."

She cursed inwardly. Of course he would notice. Any competent Defence teacher probably would. "And..."

"And I think it is related," he said, turning back to her. "And since it is an amulet, and since you are the Talismans instructor here, and since there is a change about the boy, I think it quite obviously follows that you are somehow involved."

She nearly dropped the spoon, but caught herself just in time. She wondered if any secret could last long at Hogwarts. "If you have some concern, take it to the Headmaster," she said finally.

"Perhaps I will do just that." He surveyed the children in the hall. "I must tell you that I find you highly suspect. If I find some evidence..."

"Then you must do what you must do," she answered curtly. "For now, however, I would appreciate it greatly if you'd let me enjoy my dinner in peace."

"As you wish," he replied with an odd smile.

* * *

Severus had only just finished dinner in the Great Hall when the Dark Mark began to burn. He could barely stop himself from cursing explosively. Dumbledore gave him a sad look, and Severus looked down to realise that he was clutching his left forearm. He stood up to leave.

"Going somewhere, Severus?" asked Silas smoothly.

Severus repressed the urge to snarl at the man. "Yes," he said curtly. "Good evening to you all." He swept out of the Great Hall. He had to Apparate as soon as possible.

* * *

Sarah watched as Severus left. Silas muttered something. "What?" she asked.

"Surely you must be aware of our Potions Master's dark past," he said smugly.

She almost forgot to breathe, and then realised that he couldn't possibly know the details of her past interaction with Severus. "I have heard...things," she said cautiously.

"While he was here at Hogwarts, he was a terrible nuisance," continued Silas. "Hexes...rumors of the Dark Arts...I have my suspicions about him."

"Really," said Sarah. "You seem to fancy yourself the school's own personal Auror. Perhaps you trained for it at one time?" His face took on an ugly expression. "Because isn't that where Defence teachers come from...failed Aurors?"

For a moment he looked as if he would strike her, and she knew that she had guessed correctly, and, worse, she had made an enemy. "I find my appetite quite diminished," he said waspishly, standing up. "Good evening to you all. And, Sarah, I hope you'll remember what I said." He left.

She really had been reckless to bait him like that, and she couldn't help but worry that she would regret it later.

* * *

There was no moon, and it was as black as pitch out. Severus reached the doors of Hogwarts and pulled one open with shaking hands. Torches blazed cheerily in the entrance hall. He closed the door and began to make his way across to the entrance to the dungeons and did not stop until he had closed and locked the door to his own room. He stumbled painfully as he went to pour himself a glass of firewhisky. His nerves were still jangling from the Cruciatus Curse. He sat down slowly. Certainly he had felt that particular Unforgivable before, but it had been when he was a younger man, able to withstand more. Since he had returned to the Death Eater fold it had been much more difficult to bear. His ankle began to burn, and he realised that he had sprained it slightly. His head pounded. The Dark Lord had been particularly displeased with this new complication. His new plan had "depended" on their bond, he had said. And now another scheme might have to be discarded. Severus winced as he took another large swallow of the firewhisky. He would report everything to Dumbledore in the morning, but inwardly he was disappointed in how little he had learned. There had been only more questions about Silas. More questions about Potter, and no answers.

He was too tired to think further. He needed to sleep. He could only hope that it was dreamless.


	16. The Quidditch Tryout

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

**Author's Note**: Thank you, Earthmom, I was quite surprised and delighted by your chapter-by-chapter reviewing. Thank you also to crazy-lil-nae-nae for reviewing. Every comment is appreciated.

**

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The week had passed quickly, and Harry soon found himself dreading his last class on Friday. He was not looking forward to seeing Snape again, especially since McGonagall had forced Snape to somehow accept him as a student. Harry was tempted just to drop the class and forgo the torture, but his desire to become an Auror won out. He had to try, at the very least. He was being given a chance. He would just have to suffer through Snape's snide comments and awful disposition. At least they would be having Quidditch tryouts tonight. He grinned happily, thinking about being in the air again, flying on his broom.

Unfortunately, Ron did not share his sentiments. He seemed really put out that Ginny had been made captain. Privately, Harry thought that it was a good thing. Being prefect was time-consuming enough for Ron alongside their Quidditch practices. He probably would not have been able to keep up with being captain as well. Hermione had said as much, which only seemed to irritate Ron further.

They entered the Potions classroom and sat down. The class was smaller than last year's. There was no Neville, which did not come as much as a surprise. Unfortunately Draco was there, and somehow Crabbe and Goyle had managed to squeeze in as well. Harry could not honestly believe that either of them had received an O, but there wasn't anything he could do about it, and he tried to ignore their snide mutterings.

"I asked the Fat Friar about Professor Tanner," said Hermione quietly as she rearranged her vials on the desk.

"What year was she?" asked Ron.

"Actually, he didn't remember her at all at first. She apparently wasn't a Hufflepuff." Her eyes nervously darted to the door of the classroom, watching for Snape.

"Not a Hufflepuff?" said Harry. "Should we ask Nearly-Headless Nick? He would remember if she was in Gryffindor."

"She couldn't have been a Slytherin," said Ron. "And I'm not asking the Bloody Baron anything, no way."

"She could have been a Ravenclaw," mused Hermione. "She does seem like the type. I suppose we'll have to try to find the Grey Lady. Maybe Luna could ask for us."

"Good idea—" began Harry, but never finished his thought because at that precise moment Snape came bursting through the door, sweeping up to his desk at the front. Harry was surprised to see how worn out Snape looked.

"Ah, yes, my N.E.W.T. preparation class," he sneered. "So you have gotten to this level. Or perhaps you simply coasted here on the basis of your fame alone." He paused and gave a menacing look to Harry, who tried his best not to react. "Whatever the reason, you are now in an advanced Potions class, and I will expect nothing less than top work from all of you if you are to proceed further towards the honour of sitting for your N.E.W.T. examination in Potions. Each of you will be judged on your own merit. I must warn you that any attempt to help others in this classroom"—here he looked at Hermione—"will be dealt with in the strictest way possible. Now open your textbook to page three hundred eleven..."

Hermione looked pale, and turned to Harry. Ron looked distinctly ill. _This is going to be the very worst_, thought Harry. _I'll be lucky to make it through the first month_.

* * *

"Ah, Severus, sit down," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "How was your first week back?"

Severus sat in the proffered chair and refused the tea that was offered next. "The usual dunderheads," he said. His head ached. He was actually quite glad that it was Friday. It had been a difficult week.

"I won't keep you long." He stood up and picked up something from his desk. "When I was rearranging some personal belongings I found this, and thought it might be useful to you."

"Useful?" asked Severus, perplexed. Dumbledore handed it to him. It was a piece of yellowed paper. The edge was ragged, as if it had been torn out of a book. The old-fashioned writing was faded and spotty. "What is this?"

"It is a page from Nicholas Flamel's private journal," said Dumbledore. "There was a stage in his career where he spent a good deal of time attempting to find antidotes for some of the nastier Dark Arts potions."

Severus looked up, incredulous. "A counter-potion? For—" He broke off, staring.

"Yes, for that," Dumbledore looked at him very seriously. "This is not a complete formula, by any means. It is merely a synopsis of research that Nicholas was doing at the time on that particular antidote. But I daresay it is a very good beginning."

Severus continued to stare. "I thought...I've tried to brew a counter-potion like this before. I failed. Completely."

"Perhaps this will start you in a new direction." His eyes twinkled.

"Thank you," said Severus quietly as he looked down at the page again. Just in the first three lines he could sense the genius of the legendary alchemist, and he found himself daring to hope.

"Enjoy your weekend," said Dumbledore.

"Mmmm—yes," murmured Severus as he left the Headmaster's office, engrossed in the faint handwriting.

* * *

"He's rubbish," said Ron morosely as they watched the last Gryffindor hopeful fail to catch the Quaffle that Jack Sloper lobbed at him and nearly run face first into one of the Quaffle hoops. Katie Bell stifled a giggle.

"Yes, but we don't have a lot of choices," said Ginny in a frustrated tone. "We need another Chaser. It's either him or Dennis Creevey."

"Dennis managed to at least catch the Quaffle," said Harry. "Three times, even. And Natalie McDonald seemed to be all right on a broom as well, though she needs work on her dodging skills."

"Natalie almost got knocked off by a Bludger," said Ron hotly. "And Dennis fell off his broom. Twice!"

"And he got right back on again," argued Ginny. "He's got the spirit, he just needs the training. I think he'll be fine."

"He's rubbish on a broom."

"He's better than anyone else who tried out."

Ron's eyes bulged. "You are not honestly going to put Dennis Creevey on the Quidditch team. That's starkers!" he yelled.

"I'm captain!" she shouted. "I say who gets on the team! And you're just lucky that no one tried out for Keeper!"

Ron looked as though he'd been punched in the gut. "That's enough!" said Harry. "This is ridiculous. We're a team."

Ginny took a deep breath. "You're right, Harry. I'll make the decision and post it in the Common Room tomorrow. I'm sorry, Ron, I shouldn't have said that." She marched determinedly off towards the last applicant, who was still desperately trying to catch the Quaffle that Jack Sloper kept tossing to him. "Oi! That's enough. Thank you!"

Ron was standing completely still, looking angry and hurt all at once. "C'mon, Ron," said Harry. "We should see what homework Hermione has planned out for us..." Ron nodded jerkily and followed him into the castle.

* * *

Severus looked over the parchments critically. He began to list aloud the supplies he would need for each base formula and the numerous variations thereof. His auto-quill automatically began to scratch away at a new sheet, neatly transcribing everything he said.

His eyes were bleary and his neck had a cramp in it, and he noticed that he had somehow missed dinner and that it was quite late. He straightened up slowly, and checked over the auto-quill and its work so far. It seemed to have transcribed everything. A closer look at the list of experimental potions he needed to run revealed that he had inadvertently missed one variation. He rubbed his eyes. His headache had returned, and he knew he needed to catch up on his rest, but first he needed to make this one last notation. Picking up a regular quill he began to write out the last possible variation.


	17. A Tense Meeting

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

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The weekend had flown past quickly. Severus yawned and ran a hand through his hair. Sunday evening, and he had not even begun to correct the previous week's homework. He looked at the cauldrons he had set up, and frowned. None of them showed any promise. He would have to dispose of them and start anew. He yawned again and realised how tired he was. A stack of homework stared at him accusingly from the edge of the desk, and he muttered something nasty and went to sit down. Dipping his quill in red ink, he pulled out the first parchment. It was so dull that he nearly fell asleep simply reading the title. First year, of course. He dismissed the notion of taking a Pepper-Up Potion...it usually compounded his insomnia. He blinked a few times and forced himself to concentrate.

* * *

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were on their way to Monday morning breakfast. The weekend had seemed to disappear quickly, considering that Harry had spent most of it trying to keep Ginny and Ron at opposite ends of the Quidditch field during practice. They had spent what little time was left trying to finish the huge Potions essay they had been assigned as homework.

"As a prefect, you should know that performing magic in the corridors—" Hermione was saying.

"I know," said Ron wearily as they neared the top of the marble staircase that led to the entrance hall. "But we've done it loads of times. It's a little hypocritical—"

"Shhh," said Harry, suddenly. "Look!" He pointed down into the entrance hall. Dumbledore and McGonagall were walking in from the side corridor with two others in tow. "I wonder what's going on."

"I have some Extendable Ears with me," said Ron eagerly.

Hermione looked worried, but took one anyway. "What is Fudge doing here?" she whispered. They each unrolled the fleshy coloured string and went further up the stairway so that they couldn't be seen. "Who is the woman? Someone should watch for Filch..."

"Shh! Listen," said Harry.

They watched clandestinely as the four stopped.

"Now, Dumbledore," said Fudge impatiently. "Haven't got much time—important business going on back at the Ministry. So let's get down to the matter at hand, shall we?"

"Of course," replied Dumbledore.

"Are you saying that _Narcissa Malfoy_ is the Board of Governors' representative in this matter?" said McGonagall suddenly.

Hermione looked at Harry, frightened. "How did that happen?"

"Yes, of course," said Fudge. "An old family, after all, well respected—"

"Her husband is in Azkaban!" rang out McGonagall's voice.

"Well, you see, his trial is ongoing...er...preliminary reports indicate that he is most likely innocent. Now, time is wasting—"

"Innocent?" said McGonagall in a tone of extreme disbelief.

"Narcissa has been appointed the chosen representative of the Board of Governors for the task of ensuring the safety and welfare of the children who attend Hogwarts," said Fudge impatiently. "As her own son currently attends this institution, I can hardly see what risk would be involved with the fulfilment of her current assignment."

"To check the protective spells of Hogwarts?" spat McGonagall. "You can't see a risk there?"

"That will be quite enough, Minerva," said Dumbledore quietly. "You will escort Narcissa personally." The thin woman smiled waspishly at her. "Cornelius, if you will be so good as to follow me, the conference has been prepared. I have called the teachers involved, and they should already be in my office."

"What?" said Fudge. "Called them—why?"

"You said you wanted to discuss their backgrounds," replied Dumbledore calmly. "I thought that the best way to accomplish that would be to ask them directly."

Fudge spluttered for a moment. "Very well," he said finally, following Dumbledore towards the marble staircase while Narcissa followed McGonagall to the entrance to the dungeons.

"Roll up the Ears," hissed Harry. "Pretend we just got to the stairs." Ron and Hermione nodded.

Dumbledore walked past them with a smile. Fudge, on the other hand, looked as if he'd just eaten a Sour Tongue Twister.

"Why would the Board need to check things out?" said Ron once they had gotten out of earshot.

"I don't know," said Hermione. "They might be a little afraid, with all of the news coming out about Voldemort."

"I can't believe they'd send Malfoy's mother," mused Harry.

"She's been appointed to the Board," said Ron. "My dad says she's taken Lucius's old spot."

"Which teachers was Fudge talking about?" asked Hermione. They were in the Great Hall now, and she looked up at the table. "Oh, Professor Snape...and Professor Tanner! I knew there was something about her. We know Snape's background already..." She suddenly looked panicked. "Could Tanner be a..." She looked at Harry and Ron.

"Dumbledore'd never let one of them teach," said Ron heatedly.

"I would know if she was," said Harry quietly. "I was there when the—they gathered."

"But are you certain that all of them were there?"

"Everyone except those in Azkaban," replied Harry.

"But there still could be more out there," pressed Hermione. "After all, you said Snape wasn't there. And she could be the one..._too cowardly to return_."

"Look, I don't know," said Harry. "All I know is that she wasn't there. And I don't think that she's dangerous. The amulet is working, and it was really difficult for her to make. Dumbledore asked her, and she did it. She could have said no."

Hermione did not look entirely convinced. "Fine, Harry," she said as they sat down. "But promise me you'll be careful around her."

"Who?" asked Ginny, looking up from a letter in Mrs. Weasley's handwriting.

"Professor Tanner," said Hermione, filling her glass with juice.

"The new instructor?" said Ginny. "Is she mean, like Umbridge? Oh no, Harry, you can't go and get yourself banned from Quidditch again."

"No, Ginny," said Harry. "We'll explain it later."

"Oh," she said, and went back to the note.

"Why didn't I get a note from Mum?" asked Ron.

"Because you didn't get a detention in the first week," said Ginny, sighing.

"You got a detention in the first week? Ha!" he laughed.

"Apparently you've forgotten the part where you stole Dad's _flying car_ to get to Hogwarts," snapped Ginny. Ron stopped laughing.

* * *

Sarah let the stairs carry her up to the oaken doors of Dumbledore's office. Entering, she noticed that it was empty except for Severus, who looked mildly surprised.

"I thought that...I was called by Dumbledore for an early meeting," he said. His black eyes narrowed.

"I was as well," she replied, and carefully sat down next to him. "I wonder where he is."

"He had better get here soon," he muttered. "I have essays to finish marking."

The door opened, and she wished she could turn around to see who had come in, but she was already worn out from the long walk. She waited.

Dumbledore sat down in front of them at his desk, and next to her sat a short man in a green suit. He seemed vaguely familiar. His face was flushed.

"I believe that you are already acquainted with Severus. However, you may not remember Sarah Tanner. Sarah, this is Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic."

"A pleasure," she said calmly. He simply gave her a nod of his head.

"And now...would you be so kind as to explain your visit?" asked Dumbledore smoothly.

Fudge cleared his throat nervously. "Due to current events, I was asked by the Board of Governors to review the background of teachers currently at Hogwarts. After the review was concluded the Board discussed the results and decided that the teachers in question should be investigated more fully."

"And these teachers are..." prompted Dumbledore.

"Sarah Tanner and Severus Snape," answered Fudge. He was sweating. "There were numerous marks in their personnel records that the Board felt seemed to warrant further review. Professor Snape has been involved in the past with—er—the Death Eaters, and Professor Tanner—is—er—has been connected to the Dark Arts."

"I believe," said Dumbledore carefully, "that we have covered Professor Snape's past before, and I see no further reason to delve into it again." Sarah looked at Snape, who had clutched the arms of his chair in a white-knuckled grip and looked as if he wanted to throttle Fudge with his bare hands. "As for Professor Tanner, I have seen nothing to suggest that she is currently involved with, or is practicing, the Dark Arts."

Fudge still looked nervous. "There are rumors, you see, that Professor Snape has—er—rejoined the—the Death Eaters. And there was an anonymous report made quite recently to the Board through a trusted source that Professor Tanner is—er—a, well, a Sanguimagus." He said the word quickly, as if it repulsed him. "The Board is quite concerned that not one, but two Dark Arts practitioners are teaching here at Hogwarts."

"Very well then," said Dumbledore. "I will investigate the teachers myself and send you a full report."

Fudge looked as if he could not understand what he had just heard. "What?"

"If that is what is required, then certainly I will review their teaching records, and interview them personally," replied Dumbledore. "Thank you for your concern."

"You misunderstand," said Fudge helplessly. "The Board wishes that they be reevaluated—"

"Certainly. And who better to reevaluate them than their current employer?" said Dumbledore. "Ah, Minerva has finished showing Narcissa the castle grounds. I believe that concludes our meeting. You did say that you had pressing matters to attend to, did you not?"

"Well—yes—but—" spluttered Fudge. He stood up and looked not a little upset. "Very well, but this is not the end of this issue." He turned and left, his footsteps noisy on the stairs.

"Thank you, Sarah, and Severus, for attending. I hope it did not inconvenience you overmuch. In fact, I believe that there are still a few blackberry scones left at the head table..."

Sarah looked at him. "Thank you, sir," she said. Dumbledore simply smiled and left. She began to rise out of her chair. Severus was already standing, and when she looked at him he seemed furious. He stared at her for a moment, and then whirled and walked off quickly towards the open door, his robes billowing behind him. She heard a muted chuckle and turned to look, but the headmasters and mistresses in the portraits all appeared to be sleeping. She mentally shrugged and followed after Severus.


	18. Learning to Enchant Corks

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

**Author's Note:** Thank you again for reviewing, Earthmom and Sky!

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"That's too much homework," grumbled Ron as they left Charms. "And we have practice all week. If I was captain, I'd give us a break once in a while."

"We need all the practice we can get," said Harry.

"Well, if she hadn't picked Dennis Creevey—"

"Dennis isn't that bad," said Harry, trying to be optimistic, even though he had seen him crash into the Quaffle posts twice in one practice already.

"He's awful! And those defence plays she's on about—they're awful too!"

"I think she's doing her best," said Harry. Ron frowned.

"We have to ask Luna about the Grey Lady," interrupted Hermione. "Today at lunch would probably be a good time." They turned into the entrance hall and hooked right towards the Talismans classroom. "Harry, did Professor Tanner ever contact you about chaperoning the DA?"

"Come to think of it, no," said Harry. They entered the classroom. Professor Tanner was standing at the front of the desk, scrutinising several shell pendants and a wooden chest. "Er, Professor Tanner, we were wondering about the DA...you know, the club..."

She turned and looked at him. "I sent you a school owl about it last week," she said.

Hermione and Ron looked at Harry. "Er...a school owl?"

"Yes, I received one from the Headmaster about lesson plans the next morning after you approached me, and I decided to make use of it. I attached a note and sent it to you. I assume that is still the proper protocol for owling individuals."

"Yes, but we never got it," said Ron.

"That's odd," she said. "Do you know anyone here who would have cause to divert or sabotage your personal letters?"

Harry realised that narrowing down a list of possible suspects would be difficult. "Er...I didn't expect you to send it by owl," he said lamely. Then he remembered how slowly she walked, and that he had never seen her except on the ground floor, which made a delivery in person to the Gryffindor Tower highly unlikely. "Er...it's kind of a secret club," he added hastily.

"You should have mentioned that to me in your proposal," she said calmly. "I would have found an alternate means of communication. The missive will not mean much in hostile hands, however. I only wrote 'Yes'."

"Great!" enthused Ron.

"You'll need to arrange your meetings with me at least a week prior to the actual date so that I can be certain that I am free." She concentrated again on the shell pendants.

"We'll have to work around Quidditch practice," said Harry thoughtfully as they made their way to their seats. "But there'll be fewer people to meet...some of the DA have left Hogwarts, after all..."

"Shh!" said Hermione as Draco walked in flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. "Let's talk about it later." The rest of the class followed in, and the bell rang.

"Today we will be discussing the Color-Changing Amulet," said Professor Tanner. "I hope that you have all read the first chapter of the textbook." She flicked her wand and one of the shell pendants floated above the desk. "This, if you remember from last week, will be the first amulet that you create in this class. When complete, it will change colours when worn." Her pale green eyes swept the classroom. "First, however, we need to practice on something a bit less...hazardous." She pointed to her desk. "Each of you will need to come up front and take a handful of these bits of cork out of the box." She opened the wooden chest with a flick of her wand.

Hermione looked a little puzzled as she brought her handful back to her desk and began to line them up. "What do we do with these?" whispered Ron.

"I don't know," she said quietly. "There was nothing about corks in Creating and Purposing..."

"This week you will be using these cork pieces as practice. One of the very first basics of amulet creation that must be mastered is holding the recipient item still while the first spell is cast. Because it is entirely too dangerous to hold the item while you cast the charm, and because Sticking Charms will interfere with the spellwork, you must learn to cast the spell carefully, so that the item in question does not move. The incantation is _Preparo res_. The motion is this..." She demonstrated once, quickly, and then three more times slowly. "Now, you'll need to attempt this on one cork at a time. And don't expect success immediately...you'll be bouncing corks off each other all week. The trick is to use a very subtle movement at the end. Any exaggeration will cause a tenfold increase in acceleration of your cork." She demonstrated, letting the cork bounce harmlessly against the chalkboard. "Now let's begin."

It really was tricky. Harry tried again and again but only ended up annoying Lavender. Hermione was upset when her first attempt hit the window, but by her fourth try was quite delighted that the cork was, at the very least, staying on her desk. Professor Tanner complimented her on her wand technique. Ron was trying to aim them at Goyle, as Draco kept aiming his in their direction whenever Tanner wasn't looking.

"You're all doing fairly well for your first attempts," said Professor Tanner. "Just remember that the ending motion is crucial." She turned to the chalkboard and flicked her wand, and the assignment for next week was displayed.

Draco launched an especially quick cork at Neville, who was sitting in the front row. It caught him right on the ear as he was finishing his incantation. "_Preparo res_-ow!" he said loudly, and brought his wand down much too quickly.

Professor Tanner had just turned back to the class and begun to say something about the reading for next week when Neville's pile of corks exploded. Everyone put their hands up as corks went everywhere at high speed, rattling the windows and leaving red marks where they struck students. Harry was fuming. Why couldn't Draco leave anyone alone? Then he realised that everyone was staring at the front of the class. He followed their gaze

Professor Tanner was clutching her left forearm convulsively. Though her expression betrayed nothing, she was several degrees paler than she had been. "Dismissed," she said through clenched teeth. No one moved. "Now!"

Ron picked up his books, and shrugged his shoulders at Harry's look. Everyone filed out as she continued to stand there, like a statue. "Are you all right?" asked Harry timidly as he reached the door.

"Fine," she said in very controlled tones. "Go. Close the door behind you."

Hermione turned to Harry. "She must be one of them. She must be—that's where they have the Dark Mark—"

"Not so loud!" said Harry. "Malfoy's still around somewhere."

"She can't really be...one of them," said Ron, looking upset. "She just can't. Dumbledore wouldn't hire another one."

"If we could see her arm, we'd know for certain," said Hermione.

"That would be impossible," said Harry.

"Hang on," said Ron. "Maybe if we invite her to practice...or a game...and when someone scores she waves her arms and the sleeve of her robe slides back. You could sit next to her, Hermione, and watch for—"

"The sleeves of her robes are rather tight-fitting," said Hermione exasperatedly. "And she never moves her left arm. And I can't imagine her waving about anything, really."

"Maybe, if we told her we were working on a project for another class, and we needed to test a spell on someone's arm..." said Ron.

"And she would show you her _right_ arm," said Hermione. The bell rang.

"Or maybe she just has a bruise there or something," said Harry.

"Let's just go to lunch already," said Ron. They followed him as he began walking towards the Great Hall.

* * *

Sarah inched her way down the stairs to the dungeon. Her left arm twinged, and she still had trouble hiding a shudder or two. If that Longbottom boy only knew how close he had come...she did not want to think of what could have happened. She forced herself to take another step. Her back was on fire. The cool air of the subterranean classrooms was welcome. Another step. Severus had not shown up for dinner, and she was certainly not going to climb the stairs to the Owlery to send him a note by apparently unreliable owl, so she was forced to go looking for him.

A few more steps, and she could begin to make her way through the corridor. A Slytherin student walked past her, giving her a curious glance. She was fortunate that Severus's rooms were so near, because she was getting very tired.

The Teacher's Map that she had been given had proven again to be a valuable aid. When she had attended Hogwarts the Potions classroom had been farther down; she would have walked right past his door. She knocked. At first there was no response. She knocked again, and she heard a man's irritated voice. The door swung open. "This had better be important," he snarled, and then looked surprised upon seeing her, though he concealed it quickly.

"Perhaps not an emergency," she said calmly, "but something I would like to discuss nonetheless."

"Come in," he said, standing to one side. He closed the door behind her. The room was warmer than she would have liked, owing to the cauldrons simmering away at the front. "What did you come here to discuss?" His black eyes were guarded.

"There is a sixth year in one of the Talismans classes," she said. "A Slytherin by the name of Draco Malfoy." He paled visibly. _Ah yes_, she thought, _the son of your friend, the one with the predilection for pain_. "He disrupted the class by deliberately aiming corks at the head of one Neville Longbottom."

"And this involves me how?" he said, raising one eyebrow.

"You are his head of House, I believe," she said. Her arm was beginning to throb. "I would like to know how to handle him in the most appropriate manner, so that I do not have to have this conversation again."

"Are you certain that he instigated this particular behaviour?"

"Quite."

"Would this be a class involving...Weasley, Granger, or Potter as well?"

"All three, actually."

"Ah. And perhaps you've noticed that they tend to...bait him."

"I don't know what game you are playing at," she said stiffly. "He nearly caused...I mean he caused a disturbance. And if you have no suggestion, then I will assign him detention with Argus, dock his House points, and stop troubling you with these matters."

"If you had it all worked out, why did you bother to make the trip down here?" he asked irritably.

"When I read the Teachers' Guidelines I distinctly remembered a passage about directing complaints about particularly harmful students to their Head of House," she said coolly.

"Harmful?" he asked, his expression one of disbelief. "_Corks_?"

She simply stared at him for a moment, unable to even formulate a reply. "Good evening, then." She walked out the door and made her way back to her rooms, worn out and on edge.


	19. A Sanguimagus Alone

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

**Author's Note**: I was very excited to write this chapter...it may answer a question or two!

* * *

It was so dark that by the time Ginny finally called an end to the Quidditch practice, no one could see the Quaffle anymore. As he walked off the field Harry had to admit that he was impressed with her ideas so far. They weren't as complicated as Wood's had been, but she certainly had enthusiasm. Better yet, she was excellent at coaching the new players. And she was unflappable. At one practice Malfoy and crew had shown up and predictably made fun of the Gryffindors, but she had ignored them and, except for a faint pinkness of the ears, continued to direct them as if nothing was happening.

Ron was grumbling about the defence plays again as they changed into their regular robes. "And did you see that sorry blocking manoeuvre? The Cannons would never allow a sloppy move like that..." Harry said nothing.

Hermione was waiting for them. "Bye Ginny!" she said, waving as Ginny and Dennis Creevey walked off towards the school. They waved back and kept walking, Dennis chatting away.

Hermione turned back towards Ron and Harry. "I've just talked to Luna," she said. "The Grey Lady told her that Professor Tanner was a Ravenclaw." She paused and looked at Harry. "She was in the same year as your father. And Professor Snape."

Harry was surprised. "I wonder if she knew them," he said. "Then again, maybe not...how many Ravenclaws do we know?"

"Still...she had to know _of_ them, at the very least," said Hermione as they began to walk towards the doors. "After all, they were popular. And their pranks were fairly memorable."

"Everyone knew Fred and George," pointed out Ron.

"It would put her at the right age to become a Death Eater," said Hermione. "Maybe she was a Death Eater with Snape. Maybe that's why he gives her such odd looks."

"Odd looks?" said Ron, baffled. "How do you know that?"

"It's obvious," she said. Harry opened the door and they all walked through. "At the Sorting Ceremony he looked really upset for a moment when he was turned in her direction."

"Maybe he was looking at Professor Marten," offered Ron.

"And whenever she comes in late for breakfast, he watches her as she walks up to the head table," she added.

"Oh," said Ron.

"Shh!" said Harry suddenly. "Look!" There was someone in the corridor that led to the Talismans classroom.

"You don't happen to have the Invisibility Cloak in your pocket, do you?" whispered Hermione.

"No."

"Pity." She began to sneak around the side to the corridor's entrance. They peered around the edge.

It was Professor Tanner. She was engrossed in looking at one of the walls. Harry watched as she reached her arm out and laid her hand on the bare stone. She seemed to be deep in concentration. There was a strange, prickling feeling in the air, and when she drew her hand back, it was smeared with some kind of dark substance. She looked at it critically, and then extended her left arm and drew back her sleeve. He could just make out three black dots on her forearm.

"Let's get closer," hissed Hermione. "This may be our only chance."

"I don't think that's a good idea," began Harry, but it was too late. Professor Tanner suddenly turned her head to look at them.

"Follow me at once," she said curtly and began to walk towards her office.

Hermione was pale. Harry, too, felt weirdly frightened. They had been caught spying on a teacher. Not to mention that it was late at night, the halls were deserted, and no one knew where they were. What if she really was a Death Eater? He shook his head. No, Dumbledore had hired her, and he would have to trust Dumbledore. He started to follow her.

"Harry," said Hermione uncertainly.

"Maybe she just wants to talk about the DA," said Ron.

As soon as they entered her office, Professor Tanner closed the door behind them and muttered a few words. The door glowed for a moment. "Obviously your curiosity outstrips even Mrs. Norris," she said, walking stiffly to her desk. "Sit down."

They looked at each other and then hesitatingly seated themselves on her battered furniture.

She was still standing, and Harry could now make out that the substance on her hand was red. His stomach lurched as he realised that it was blood. Hermione looked even more frightened. He wondered if he should go for his wand. Tanner absently spelled off the blood, still staring thoughtfully at the three of them.

"I will explain things to you," she said quietly. "But in return you must swear not to reveal what I say unless you are in mortal peril."

Hermione looked afraid and curious at the same time. "Are you going to...cast some sort of magical contract?"

"I am asking you to swear to me that you will not divulge my secrets," she answered simply. "That is its own contract. Whether or not you hold to it is your own affair, and I'm certain that you have already seen the consequences of breaking your word at some point in your lives." Harry thought of Peter Pettigrew, and the Fidelius charm, and nodded. "Do you agree?"

"Yes," said Harry.

Ron looked at him for a moment, and then said yes.

Hermione bit her lip, but curiosity won out. "Yes," she said.

"I am telling you this because Dumbledore has mentioned that you are mature beyond your years, and that you have already faced more in your few years than many grown witches and wizards face in their entire lifetimes. And I am telling you this because I do not want you to pry further into my private business," said Tanner. "Your library research has already caused problems." Hermione blushed faintly. "And this baseless accusation that I am a follower of the Dark Lord is ridiculous. Don't worry," she added, seeing the look that passed between them, "I am not spying on you. I happened to overhear you outside the door after you left my class."

"We heard you were practicing the Dark Arts," said Harry quietly.

"Ah. Perhaps I shall begin my explanation...You know what an Animagus is, and you might know what a Metamorphmagus is," she continued. Harry thought of Tonks and nodded. "I am a Sanguimagus."

"Sanguimagus?" blurted out Hermione. "That means...blood witch. Then what you did with Harry's amulet...that was blood magic."

"Yes," said Tanner. "It is a very old magic. You are marked with it, Harry. Your mother cast a very ancient spell on you." She paused for a moment. "This is fairly complicated, so I will attempt to simplify it." She turned to the chair behind her desk and slowly began to sit down.

"It sounds like Dark Magic," said Hermione.

Tanner looked at her, pale eyes expressionless. "By its very nature it is Dark, but few things in life are clearly one thing or the other, and it is the same way with blood magic."

"Taking the blood of a unicorn curses the person who took it," said Harry suddenly.

"No, _killing_ a unicorn curses the killer," she answered. "It is very rare for anyone to use it, but your Potions master could tell you of a few formulas today that require unicorn's blood." Hermione had a look of concentration on her face.

"But what do you do with...er...the blood?" asked Ron, looking squeamish.

She took a drink from a goblet on her desk. "Let me explain some of the history and you may understand better. Before wands were invented, you see, wizards and witches had no real control over their powers. They could make random things happen when they were angry or scared, of course, but for the most part magic was uncontrollable and useless. Then someone realised that blood could be used as a focus. It was the first magical tool, but it had limitations. All wizards and witches could use it, but only to a certain degree. Only some could use it...fully, and they became the Sanguimagi. They experimented with it, developed it further, and discovered a hierarchy of power within blood, because different sources mean different results. They quickly became powerful.

"Then wands were invented, and those witches and wizards who had not been able to use the full spectrum of blood magic were given a focus of their own. And this focus was incredible. Wands were the best answer to the control issue so far, far superior to blood. But the Sanguimagi were reluctant to leave their traditions behind, and there were some spells that required blood that could not be cast with a wand. Plus they had begun to marry each other and have children who inherited the gift. The schism between the two groups was growing wider.

"It all came down to a terrible conflict when Salazar Slytherin drew away most of his Sanguimagi students from Hogwarts and declared war. He led the Sanguimagi to strike out at wand magic—"

"That's mad!" interrupted Hermione. "I've never heard anything about it. That's not in _Hogwarts: A History._ Salazar Slytherin actually—"

"No, it isn't in any history book that survives," said Tanner calmly. "It was a dark time, and the wand wizards and witches who defeated Salazar and destroyed most of the Sanguimagi did not want to dwell on it. They were determined to annihilate blood magic. Many of the Sanguimagi had used sacrifices during the War...I needn't tell you who they sacrificed. The victors destroyed nearly every book that was written about blood magic, and they tracked down many of the old Sanguimagi families and killed them as well. I am not saying that either side was correct in this struggle, but the outcome was that blood magic nearly ceased to be. It was only practiced by the few that survived, in secret. Our ancient magical tradition was nearly utterly destroyed."

"But how did you find out about it? And if everyone passed away, how did you and Harry's mother become Sanguimagi?" asked Hermione.

Tanner closed her eyes for a moment and then reopened them. "I will not answer the first question," she said flatly. "As for who becomes a Sanguimagus now...it is a matter of bloodlines...but I can say without hesitation that I doubt there will ever be another Sanguimagus."

"Why not?" asked Hermione.

"Though anyone can cast blood magic...it takes more to become a full Sanguimagus. You must have a certain kind of blood. And even when the bloodlines seem to mesh there is a mercurial element at work that sometimes makes one a Sanguimagus and another not. Unfortunately there are not enough carriers of the old blood in enough quantity to pose the question anymore."

"But if you were to find someone with enough—"

"No, Hermione, it would not work. You see, I am not a pureblood...my grandfather was a Muggle. My parent had no idea that they were the union of the last two old blood families—"

"But you said Harry's mother—"

"Harry's mother could never have been a Sanguimagus, though she had a small measure of the ancient magic," said Tanner. "She was a powerful witch. What she did...was born of love and desperation. It's so strong it's almost tangible..." She trailed off for a moment, staring at Harry. She took another sip from her goblet.

"What were you doing...to the wall?" asked Ron timidly.

"The wall..." She looked at the smudges on her left sleeve. "This castle was partially built by Salazar Slytherin. I am certain that you are bright enough to figure out the logical conclusion."

Ron was bewildered. "The castle _bleeds_?"

"You used both your wand and blood for Harry's amulet," said Hermione, ignoring him. She seemed intent on asking as many questions as she could.

"They can work together," said Tanner. "They are not mutually exclusive."

"What sort of limitations—"

"No more," said Tanner evenly. "I have told you all I will tell you. Even this much would certainly spell my dismissal as a Hogwarts instructor if anyone else was to find out. I must remind you of your promise now. And Hermione, I must warn you that there are no books in the Hogwarts library about blood magic. Not even in the Restricted Section. If you go looking further you may jeopardise things and plans which you know nothing about. You could put lives in danger. I have come to you with an adult's bargain. I have satisfied some of your curiosity, and I ask you to leave it at that."

Hermione looked like she wanted to ask more. A lot more.

"Curfew is nearly upon you," she said simply. "You'll want to return to your dormitories." With a flick of her wand the door glowed once more and then opened. "Good evening."

"Good evening," said Harry as they left.

The walk back to Gryffindor Tower was awkward. Harry wanted desperately to talk about what they had learned, but there was still a possibility that someone could be nearby, listening. Eventually they reached the common room. The rest of the Quidditch team was talking animatedly about Krum and his latest performance of the Wronski Feint. Hermione looked a little pink at that, but said nothing.

"We should talk later," Harry whispered to her just before they joined Ginny and the team. "Myrtle?"

"Definitely," she answered quietly, sitting down and smiling as Crookshanks vaulted into her lap.


	20. Discussions

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

**

* * *

**

Harry sighed to himself as he walked into the Great Hall for breakfast with Ron and Hermione.

"I still don't think that justifies letting those first years go," Hermione was arguing. "We are supposed to set an example, Ron."

"Look, they were just having a little fun," said Ron. "Come off it, Hermione. We did the same when we were first years."

"I hardly call nearly hexing ears off a little fun." She looked annoyed. "They're just lucky that Filch didn't catch them."

They had to walk past the Slytherins to get to the Gryffindor table, and Harry noticed Crabbe elbowing Draco, who turned to look at them and then smiled nastily. "Oh, Hermy-own-ninny," he said loudly in a much-exaggerated version of Viktor Krum's accent. "Vhy haff you not to called me?" He pantomimed despair. "Oh, my leetle Hermy-own-ninny, I haff meesed you so..." Pansy screeched with laughter. Hermione simply grimaced and kept walking.

"You leave her alone!" yelled Ron hotly. The hall suddenly became quiet.

"Let's go sit down," said Harry to Ron. "He's not worth it."

"Aw, Ron, are you going to cry? Is someone picking on your widdle girlfriend?" said Draco maliciously. "How sad. Not that she'd be your girlfriend for long, after she sees that ramshackle excuse for a house—"

Ron would have leapt over the table at him, were Harry and Neville not restraining him. "You nasty little git!" he shouted. "You shut up!"

"Ron!" said Harry. "Stop it!"

"That's enough!" said Professor McGonagall furiously. "All of you, sit down before I take points from Gryffindor!"

This seemed to bring Ron back to the present, and he stopped struggling. Turning, he stalked off towards the Gryffindor table. The Slytherins giggled. Neville shrugged, and they went and sat down as well.

"You didn't need to...do that," said Hermione awkwardly to Ron.

"Well, he didn't need to say that," fumed Ron. "Nasty little blighter, one day he'll get what he deserves, you mark my words."

"We can only hope," said Harry. Hermione smiled.

"Don't forget practice tonight," said Ginny. "We really need to work on Defensive Play Sixty-two."

"Oh, Sixty-two, right," said Ron. "As opposed to the sixty-one others that we still haven't got."

Ginny looked hurt. "Look, I'm trying, but some of these plays are easier than others, and with a new player I just have to find the right ones..."

"You might as well give up on seeing the Cup," said Ron, determinedly attacking his eggs.

Ginny was very quiet for a moment. "Don't you dare say that in front of the other team members, even if you think it's true," she said. She looked him in the eye. "When McGonagall told me I was captain, it was one of the best moments of my life. But then I thought, how could I possibly be captain, with Ron and Harry and Katie still on the team. I was a nervous wreck thinking about it. I just thought I'd give it a go, and that you'd understand—that you'd be happy that I—but you've been horrible!" Her voice was beginning to rise. "Can't you just at least pretend to be nice? I've got enough going on as it is!" She jumped up and grabbed her books, practically running out of the hall.

Ron was completely bewildered. "What's the matter with her?"

"If you haven't noticed," said Hermione slowly and carefully, "she's received two detentions already this term. She's been late to classes and forgotten to turn in assignments. She's spent so much time working out defensive theory for the team and practicing Quidditch that she's been barely keeping it together. She's up all hours of the night working out plays and new methods of training..."

"She accepted the position, she should take the responsibility," said Ron stubbornly. "If she's not happy, there are others who would gladly step up."

"Ron, she is happy," said Hermione exasperatedly. "She loves Quidditch. She is just getting tired of hearing you criticise her constantly when she's only trying to improve things."

Ron looked at his eggs as if they were suddenly incredibly fascinating.

Harry decided to change the subject before anything else happened. He took a sip of pumpkin juice and realised that it was still relatively early in the morning. "Hermione," he said in a low voice. "This is a good chance to discuss the things...we need to discuss." He gave her a meaningful look.

She seemed to think about it for a moment, and then nodded her head. "Yes. Give me a moment to finish my toast."

Neville sat down next to Harry, wiping at a jam stain on his robes with a napkin. "When's the next meeting?" he whispered. "I can't wait to start practicing the Patronus Charm again!"

"Er—we'll let you know," said Harry. "Soon, I promise." Neville nodded and then wandered back to his seat.

They finished their hasty breakfast and took off for Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Some of the Slytherins were in the entrance hall. Ron sent a sullen look in Draco's direction.

"Father is to be released very soon," said Draco loudly. "The trial went very well, he proved his innocence beyond a shadow of a doubt...the court even apologised for holding him...should be home soon..."

Harry felt a slow anger welling up within him. How could they let Lucius Malfoy go? He had been the leader of the attack on the Ministry of Magic. He had hurt people. Was Sirius's death nothing? Did it mean so little to the court? He wanted to someone to suffer...someone to pay...

Hermione grabbed his arm and pulled him along. "You told Ron it wasn't worth it, and you were right," she said firmly. "Don't waste any time on him." They went up the stairs, and Harry could just make out another Krum impression and the gales of laughter that followed it.

Myrtle did not seem to be around again, which was just as well. "I did some research in the library about blood magic..." began Hermione.

"But Hermione, you promised!" said Ron.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "_Before_ I promised, silly." Harry remembered that Tanner had mentioned Hermione's research. "Tanner was right. There was almost no information at all. Just a few references here and there, as if someone had forgotten to blot them out."

"What did they say?" asked Harry.

Hermione shrugged. "Not much. Nothing at all, really, except a mention of blood used to make a potion, and to mix blood in with mortar to lay the first stone—the Keystone—of a Wizard dwelling."

"Blech," said Ron, looking squeamish.

"Bet Malfoy Manor was built with every stone like that," said Harry darkly.

"I don't know if I believe her story." Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully. "I mean, we've never heard any of this before, have we? And we would have, if it really happened that way. No one could erase that much of the past. There'd be journals, history books...stories..."

"She said they were destroyed by the victors," said Harry. "They wouldn't want anyone to continue using blood like that, I think. And after all, it was a thousand years ago. Most of that stuff wouldn't be lying around anywhere anymore."

"Look, we don't have much time," interrupted Ron. "We really need to decide when the next DA meeting is going to be."

"Hmm," said Harry. "Tonight we have Quidditch practice—"

"And we have to let everyone know where we're meeting," added Hermione. "We could meet here...we'd just have to bring some cushions and things..."

"What? Here?" said Ron, horrified. "With Myrtle?"

"We're going to meet in the Talismans classroom, with Professor Tanner," said Harry firmly. "Dumbledore told me we have to have supervision, remember?"

"We could still ask Flitwick," said Hermione stubbornly.

"I've already asked Tanner, and she said yes. How about Thursday night?"

"Fine with me," said Ron. Hermione looked like she wanted to say more, but just then Ron looked at his watch. "We've got to go!" he exclaimed. They ran out of the bathroom and barely made it to Charms before the bell rang.

* * *

Sarah had to admit that she was tired of porridge. She dug the spoon into the creamy white substance and almost considered giving up. She exhaled and stared at it. Silas was nattering away to Minerva about some project he had assigned his students in Wales. To her left was an empty chair where Sybill occasionally sat. She looked across the hall and was surprised to see Severus's black-robed form striding past the Slytherin table. Had she really gotten to breakfast before him? That was a first. His eyes slid towards her and held hers for an instant before he walked past Hagrid and the others at that end and took his customary seat.

Again she surveyed the quickly cooling porridge. _Just a little, try a little_, she said to herself, and raised the spoon to her lips. She tried to think of anything but the rising nausea. She was beginning to forget what real food tasted like. Grimacing, she forced herself to eat another bite. She realised that Silas was staring at her.

"You know, in one of my classes some years ago I gave a lesson about a vampire who only ate gruel..." He smirked.

She looked at him, and found herself wondering again if he had been the anonymous source that had tipped off the Ministry that she was a Sanguimagus. "You'll forgive me if I think the idea...less than plausible."

"It's a homily, my dear, a little parable about the stubborn beliefs that we take as fact."

"Vampires don't eat gruel." She was actively staring at him at this point. "A fact that no one would contradict, I think."

"Yes, but half-vampires—dampiels—can and do," he said smugly. "A trick question, to be certain, but sometimes I find the best way to get through to the young minds under my care is through the side door."

"Ah," she said, because she really didn't know what else to say. Was he trying to give her a lecture about how to teach? Was there a veiled threat within his words? She took another bite of her porridge, deciding that it was too early to try to puzzle it out.

Minerva sniffed. "What do you do if the side doors are nailed shut?"


	21. An Eventful Evening

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Severus scowled at the cauldron. It seemed to mock him with its contents, which had somehow separated, despite his precise stirring. "Blast!" he said vehemently. He was nearly at the end of his list, and nothing promising had developed. "_Evanesco_," he hissed, watching the failed potion fade into nothingness. He rubbed his eyes. He had been brewing since last Friday, and it was now Wednesday evening, and he had nothing to show for his efforts. The other two cauldrons would not be ready until tomorrow. He cursed again. On parchment this had been one of the better variations, and its failure gnawed at him.

There was a loud knocking at the door, and he was brought out of his potion-making reverie. "Come in," he said.

The door swung open to reveal Silas, who smiled as he entered the classroom, resplendent in dark tweedy robes. "Ah, Severus," he said jovially, shutting the door behind him. "I was hoping to have a word with you."

"I'm busy."

"This will only take a moment of your time," answered Silas with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I am certain that you are aware that I am instructing some of your Slytherins in Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"And?" said Severus impatiently.

"And I must mention that I am having a few problems with a student by the name of Draco Malfoy." He fingered his goatee thoughtfully. "He apparently believes that he knows more about the subject than I do."

"I do not see the problem."

Silas moved closer to the worktable, his eye on the two cauldrons that simmered there. "He has disrupted my class on more than one occasion," he said in a peeved tone. "And his compatriots, a Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle, have conspired with him to cause an altercation between themselves and a Mr. Potter _during a lecture_."

Severus was nearly grinding his teeth in frustration. "And what is it you would have me do?"

"Why, I expect that you will contact the parents immediately and speak to them about their highly offensive behaviour," said Silas. He examined one of the potions closely.

Severus closed his eyes and tried not to laugh out loud at the thought of Lucius's reaction to such a message. He reopened them to see Silas stirring one of the potions.

Stirring. One of his potions.

It took all of his self-control not to hex him into the next century. "What," he spat, "do you think you are doing?"

Silas, startled, dropped the spoon. "Why, obviously you have forgotten to stir it ten times clockwise! Every schoolchild knows how to make a Dreamless Sleep potion—"

"Not only was that not a Dreamless Sleep potion," said Severus, seething, "but you have destroyed a week's worth of research, and wasted expensive ingredients—"

"Oh, I'm certain that you can replicate it. You're a talented fellow." He lowered his voice slightly. "Actually, while we're on the subject...you know, I have friends...good friends...in the Ministry...and one tells me that Borgin and Burkes was the focus of a recent raid..."

Severus stopped mid-tirade, blindsided. "What are you saying?" he snapped.

"Nothing," said Silas innocently. "Nothing at all. Your potion-making skills are quite appreciated among a certain group...near legendary, actually. Some of the poisons they found in Borgin's subterranean vault were quite advanced..."

Severus was speechless. Had Silas guessed that Severus was still a Death Eater? How could his poisons have ended up in Borgin's greedy hands, and how had Silas made the connection? Few of the Death Eaters possessed them, and his own stock was quite well secured. He was growing more uneasy with every moment. "And what would this have to do with me?" he asked, looking down at the obnoxious professor, trying to call his bluff. He had to admit that blackmail was the last thing he had been expecting, but could not quite see what Silas wanted from him, excepting a hair-restorative potion.

"This new teacher," said Silas in a deceptively positive tone, apparently ignoring the fact that he had hired in at the same time. "Sarah Tanner. Perhaps she has asked you to create something for her..."

"What?" asked Severus, confused. His mind raced. "Sarah has asked nothing of me."

"I have only the children's best interests at heart, you see," said Silas in a more dangerous tone than Severus had ever expected from him. "And I must say that her presence here is, quite frankly, a hazard."

"I don't follow your reasoning."

"My Detectors—I have created a few specialised items, you see, of my own design—have sensed the presence of some Dark artefact on her person. I have my suspicions about her, and I feel that she has...talents that are not immediately apparent." He paused, looking at the ruined potion cryptically. "Seeing that you share the same...persuasion, she might find it beneficial to ally herself with your formidable skills, though of course after so many years at this venerable institution you have, no doubt, discovered the _wiser_ course."

The veiled threat within Silas's words floored Severus. He was past the time for subtlety. "Are you saying that you wish me to eschew all contact with Sarah?"

"Oh, no," said Silas innocently. "I am simply performing my duties as a good and responsible citizen, and warning you that, should she come to you for help, any assistance you render her could be...detrimental to your own position."

Anger filled him, hot and familiar. The Dark artefact on her person was, no doubt, the lingering Dark potion that Severus had used on her so many years ago, but Silas, in his pompous manner, had already appointed himself judge and jury in her case, and decided her entire character based on this erroneous inference. He remembered Fudge's words, and guessed that he was looking at the source of the anonymous tip that might result in Sarah's expulsion. "I thank you for your advice," said Severus in his own dangerous voice. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I have some research to continue."

Silas looked at him, his watery blue eyes narrowed. "I hope you'll remember our conversation," he said stiffly.

"I'm certain you won't let me forget," snarled Severus.

Silas turned on his heel and left the classroom, closing the door loudly behind him. Severus pounded on the worktable in frustration. Intrigue, threats, power struggles...and at work, no less. The ruined potion confronted him, sending up fumes of burnt tar.

For a few minutes he stared at the cauldron, his mind struggling to decipher the conversation he'd just had. It was useless. He needed to walk, to burn off some of the tension. With one last quick check of the remaining potion he went out the door, casting a few more precautions than were strictly necessary.

It was late, and the dungeon corridors were deserted. Woe betide any student that he found out after curfew while in this black mood. He ascended the stairs to the entrance hall, expecting to go up the marble staircase and take up his usual route.

Then he heard voices.

There, in the entrance hall, stood two figures, and he immediately sensed danger, as their wands were out, and they were facing each other. Late night duel between students? he wondered for a moment, but no, the figures were obviously adults, and there was something familiar about them.

One was Lucius. The other was Sarah.

_Merlin, they'll kill each other_, he thought in horror, striding towards them.

Lucius looked horrible. His clothing, usually impeccable, was shredded and dirty. His long blonde hair was matted and filthy, his face haggard and worn. He had come directly from Azkaban, then. He must have business with Draco, business too important to wait, and he had run into Sarah. Of all the ill luck...

Severus had nearly reached the two. "What is going on here?" he demanded in his most authoritative tone.

"I am here to speak with my son," said Lucius through gritted teeth.

"Sarah?" asked Severus, turning towards her.

She did not reply, or even move, for that matter. Her wand arm shook so violently that any attempt to cast a spell would most likely fail, though that did not immediately rule out the danger. Every muscle in her body seemed to be locked. She stared at Lucius, and upon her face was such a mix of fury and terror that Severus felt his stomach twist in fear at what she would do.

"Sarah, you cannot accost a student's parent like this," he said feebly.

She did not even seem to have heard him. Her arm still shook, and her eyes were wide with emotion. Her teeth were bared in a confused grimace.

"Severus," said Lucius in a pleading tone that surprised him.

Severus could see the exhaustion plainly on Lucius's face. He remembered his own brief stint at the wizards' prison. "Sarah, put away your wand," he said as calmly as he could. "Lucius is here to see Draco, and then he is leaving." Knowing the horrors that Lucius had visited upon her made him nervous...would she relent? Would she hex him? He supposed that if she had wanted to cast something on him she would have done it already, which made him hope that she would listen to reason.

She suddenly seemed to realise that he was there. She did not take her eyes off Lucius, though. "Let him lower his wand first," she said through tightly-clenched teeth.

Lucius, of course, looked as if he would voluntarily coat himself with stinksap before he would drop his guard in front of her. "I will stand between you," said Severus evenly, "and you will both lower your wands." It was, he reflected, the most insane thing he had done in a fortnight, but if it prevented them from rearranging each other's body parts then it was a good thing. He stepped between the two. At first nothing happened, but then Sarah's arm lowered, and Lucius reluctantly lowered his as well. "I will take you to the Slytherin common room," said Severus to Lucius, who nodded, looking fatigued. He took Lucius's elbow and guided him towards the entrance of the dungeons, leaving Sarah standing in the middle of the hall. His back itched, expecting some hex at any moment, knowing what it must provoke in her to see them both together after the horrors they had inflicted upon her. To his near-surprise they entered the subterranean corridors without mishap.

Lucius breathed a sigh of relief. "Stupid little bitch," he said, but with only a portion of his normal disdain. "I will lodge a complaint with the Board tomorrow—"

Severus stopped in his tracks. "What?"

Lucius was apparently too tired to fully process Severus's blunder. "The ignorant little snipe...the impudence..."

Severus had to proceed carefully. "She is not worth your time," he said in the most neutral tone he could muster. "And if she were to mention events in the past..."

Lucius looked at him, dazed. "They would never believe...she has discredited herself so thoroughly..." He shook his head. "You are correct. I will not bring it up. But I must see Draco now...it is urgent..."

Severus helped him to the Slytherin common room, and eased him into a chair. Draco was already in his bed, asleep, but woke at once when Severus whispered to him. The teenager ran to his father's side. If he was frightened by Lucius's dishevelled appearance, he didn't show it.

Lucius looked up at Severus. "We need a private place to speak," he said.

Draco helped pull his father up out of the chair. "We have a room here for that purpose," he said, showing him to one of the walls. He murmured a few words and a door appeared.

"Clever," said Lucius, and Draco smirked. "Severus, wait for me, will you? I would not wish to roam the halls unescorted and risk an altercation with Filch." His grey eyes connected with Severus's, who, with his limited Legilimency, picked up an image of Lucius cursing Sarah into oblivion.

"Certainly," he said, letting a faintly amused smile touch his lips, though inwardly he was disturbed at the thought. Father and son entered the room and the door glowed briefly, and Severus had to admit that it probably had not been one of his better ideas to allow Draco access to the Privacy Room, considering how badly he wanted to eavesdrop on their conversation right now. He stewed for a moment, pacing, but soon enough they exited, and Draco made his way back towards his dormitory.

Severus escorted Lucius to the Forbidden Forest, as it was the only place from which to Apparate, considering that the gates were closed and locked. Severus had suggested that Lucius stay and depart in the morning, but was met with an adamant refusal. Lucius shivered in the cool night air as they made their way through the trees, and Severus shivered as well, but not from the cold; he was wondering what would come from the events that night.


	22. The First DA Meeting

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

**Author's Note: **Thank you coolcat411, Quietude, and Silverthreads for your reviews! I'm glad you're reading this story. Thank you for your comments, I eagerly await them.

* * *

Harry had just begun his second stack of blackberry pancakes when Ginny sat down next to him. "Harry, I told Terry and Michael," she whispered. "That's everybody. We'll all be ready tonight for the meeting."

"Great," said Harry, but inwardly he was starting to feel a little tense. What would Professor Tanner think about the Patronus Charm being performed in her classroom? How could he possibly hope to discuss Voldemort's plans with the others in front of her? He was beginning to wonder if they should have used Hermione's plan after all, except that he really had no desire to involve Moaning Myrtle in their lessons.

Owls swooped in from all directions and it began to rain parchment and parcels. Ron, surprised, caught a small package.

"Who is that from?" asked Hermione.

"Fred and George!" he answered, enthusiastically ripping it open.

"You might want to be careful—" began Hermione as she paid a delivery owl for her copy of the _Daily Prophet_.

"They want me to try to sign people up to test their newest inventions," he said, reading the small piece of parchment enclosed in the package. "And they've sent some new sweets..."

"I'm not trying any," announced Ginny immediately.

"And look...they say something about our club..." He trailed off, reading further. "They want to have a meeting at their shop." He looked at Harry, incredulous.

"We couldn't possibly...it's in London..." Hermione had a thoughtful look on her face.

"But during the Christmas holiday..." said Harry.

"They're part of the other group, now, too," said Ron in a low voice. "Mum nearly went berserk, but they insisted."

"We could contact the others who have graduated," added Ginny. "They'll want to be part of it as well."

They all looked at Harry. "Er...it sounds like a good idea," he said awkwardly. He took a sip of pumpkin juice as the others nodded.

"Draco was saying his father was released from Azkaban," said Ginny. There was an odd expression on her face. "I heard they released him because he claimed he was under the Imperius Curse."

"Again?" said Hermione. "But he was giving the orders at the Ministry of Magic."

Harry felt anger creep up inside him again. "That's awful," he said hotly. "People go to Azkaban for nothing—innocent people—yet they let him out—"

"Shhh!" hissed Hermione.

"I wonder how he convinced them?" said Ginny.

"Probably bought their votes," said Ron darkly.

"There has to be a way to prove he wasn't under the Imperius Curse," said Hermione thoughtfully. "There must be some technicality...something to show that he was in control of himself..." She had that gleam in her eye that meant library research was in order.

"Well, I hope you can find something," said Harry irritably. "They should have kept him locked up. Forever."

"I'm off to the Owlery," said Ron.

"Bye," said Ginny. She took a long drink of her pumpkin juice.

"We should decide what we can and can't discuss in front of Professor Tanner," said Hermione quietly.

"For tonight, we'll just review spells," said Harry. "I think we'll have to wait and see about any...er...other information."

"I need to finish my parchment before class starts," said Ginny, grabbing her books and running off.

"I hope Ron gets to Herbology on time," fretted Hermione. "Let's go."

* * *

Sarah came back from the dinner in the Great Hall to find a small group of students standing in the corridor in front of her rooms. "Good evening," she said to them as she opened the door, letting them into the classroom. Closing the door behind them, she walked slowly to her desk, where the students' parchments that were yet to be marked were stacked.

"Professor Tanner," said Harry, looking a bit nervous. "Er...do you mind if we move..."

"Harry, for the next hour the classroom is yours," she said. "Do whatever you require. However, I expect it to be returned to its original state before you leave for the evening."

"Yes, Professor," he said, and turned back to the students. They began to move desks to create a free space in the middle of the room.

She soon absorbed herself in her marking, trying to tune out the spellwork that was going on. It proved to be rather difficult, as some of the spells were not directed very properly. A Disarming Spell very narrowly missed her, knocking the parchment she was marking clear off her desk and nearly out the window. "Careful," she said.

"Sorry," said Lavender Brown, looking sheepish. She retrieved the parchment for Sarah.

"Thank you," she said. She finished marking Longbottom's work and picked up the next scroll.

Draco Malfoy.

She nearly cursed aloud. An image of the elder Malfoy blossomed in her head again, his cruel grey eyes, the remembrance of that horrible night, the fear and horror that had overwhelmed her. The room was much too warm, and she suddenly felt nauseated. Putting her hands flat on her desk, she tried to compose herself. She took a few calming breaths and the feelings faded.

The students were putting the chairs back now, and had nearly righted the room.

"Thank you, Professor Tanner," said Harry as they left.

She nodded to him as they closed the door. The scent of magic was in the air, with the distinct odour of singed robe as well. It smelled like school to her. She opened the windows further with a wave of her wand. She remembered lessons at Hogwarts, when everything felt new and interesting, when floating a feather had seemed like the most impressive thing she'd ever done. And here she was again, showing children magic, but not any magic she'd learned at Hogwarts. Her thoughts turned to Lucius once again, to the expression on his face when he recognised her, the tremendous shock. It had been so long since she'd felt anything this fully that it had swamped her, knocking her off balance entirely. Had she attempted any spell that truly required focus it would have been disastrous.

She rubbed her eyes irritably. It was no use to dwell on the encounter. She needed to get to bed now, and rest, and hope that no nightmares would disturb her, though she doubted it. Already she could sense his grey eyes in the back of her mind.

* * *

Severus examined the potion carefully. It was an odd periwinkle colour and the consistency seemed strange, but it had held together for nearly an hour, and it seemed to be the answer to his research.

He straightened up, groaning as his back protested. He had sacrificed far too much sleep over the past week, and his body no longer seemed so willing to go along with it as it had in the past. He stirred the potion precisely three times, and was immensely cheered that it continued to hold. It was his best work yet, and he was quite pleased, as he only had a variation or two left on his list, and no further leads. It was quite a lovely brew. He began to see an article for _Potion Masters Quarterly _with his name on the cover in bold print. "A remarkable potion for an incurable poison..." "Truly the most inventive piece of work in decades..." He nearly smiled at the thought.

Until he remembered the poison it was counter-acting. There would be questions. Too many questions. Could he trust Sarah not to reveal that he had created the original foul concoction? "Blast," he said tiredly, rubbing his eyes. He really needed to sleep. He looked at the brew one more time.

It was no longer periwinkle. It had turned a hideous mix of colours and he realised that it had separated.

He cursed violently and gripped the edge of the worktable, waiting for the fury to recede. Several deep breaths later he reopened his eyes and tried to take a mental inventory. No article. No praise. No potion.

But...it had remained stable for over an hour...

He considered the brewing sequence again. If he could time it correctly, apply it as soon as it was ready...it could work...

He stumbled off to his room, and did not even bother to remove his robe. Yawning, he laid down on the bed, his mind making one more half-hearted attempt to revise the list of ingredients as he drifted off to sleep.


	23. Potions

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

"Harry, no," whispered Hermione. "You can't add the ashwinder eggs now...it'll explode!"

"Oh," he said, feeling embarrassed. He had been watching Snape so intently he'd nearly destroyed his potion. The Potions master was completely focused on a project, and had not even bothered to look in their direction for nearly the entire class. Harry had to admit that Snape was interesting to watch. He did not seem to be weighing or measuring anything. There were ingredients everywhere on his worktable, and he reached for them quickly, slicing some finely, uncorking various bottles, moving with a precision and speed that was quite astonishing. Harry dropped in the ingredient from his hand without looking.

"Hermione, what do we put in next?" asked Ron, looking bewildered.

She looked exasperated. "It's the rat liver first," she hissed. "Then the ashwinder eggs."

Suddenly there was an awful noise from Harry's cauldron, and Hermione grabbed his arm just in time as it exploded and showered bright yellow liquid on the three of them.

"Potter!" barked Snape. "What have you done?"

"Er..." His face was completely red. Hadn't Hermione just told him not to add the egg next? "Er..."

Snape's face was twisted in anger. "You have disrupted my class again, Potter," he said softly. "I will arrange a suitable detention later. For now..." He looked at the three of them, covered head to toe in the bright yellow, blobby substance. "...the infirmary."

Hermione grabbed her books, and they did likewise, rushing out of his classroom.

"Look at my robes," moaned Ron. "They're ruined!"

Hermione looked at Harry, her eyes flashing. "You put that egg in because you weren't paying attention," she said angrily. "I can't help you in class anymore."

"What are you on about?" asked Ron.

"Snape said at the beginning of term that everyone must succeed on their own merits. If he hadn't been so distracted by what he was brewing he would have noticed you asking me questions and we all would have gotten in trouble! As it is, that ruined potion is going to earn Harry a detention." She fixed Harry with a fierce glare. "If you don't pay attention in his class, you'll never become an Auror. I can help you outside of class, but not in class," she said firmly.

"Fine, then," said Ron irritably.

"What was he making?" asked Harry.

"I don't know," said Hermione. "It was really advanced, though. He was adding things I've only heard of in books...things from his private stores."

"Must be something special," said Ron. "He's never spent so much time on a brew before..."

"I wonder," said Hermione quietly. "Perhaps he's working on something for...well, you know, the Order. A counter-potion for something...like the Cruciatus Curse."

"But there's nothing that can counter the Cruciatus Curse," said Harry.

"Well, nothing now," said Hermione. "But Snape's really accomplished in the Potions world...he's mentioned in _Noteworthy Alchemists _for his work on the Wolfsbane Potion. If anyone could make an antidote, it would be him."

Someone else was coming down the corridor towards them, looking at their potion-coated robes curiously, and Harry changed the subject abruptly. "Quidditch practice tomorrow..."

"No doubt we'll be covering Defensive Play number 356," said Ron glumly.

Harry ignored that comment and decided to change the subject again. "I wonder when the next Hogsmeade weekend is," he said. "I want to get another package of Dreamy Toffees."

"McGonagall told me that the next visit is in two weeks," said Hermione.

"Since when is McGonagall giving you inside tips about Hogsmeade?" asked Ron.

"Since she's been giving me extra Transfiguration projects," said Hermione, turning slightly pink.

"Extra?" said Ron, his mouth dropping open. "There isn't enough schoolwork for you already?"

"If you haven't noticed, we are taking N.E.W.T.s next year," she said. "I want to be prepared. Here's the hospital wing. Let's go, I want to be rid of this goop." They entered the infirmary, where Poppy took one look at them and hid a smile behind her hand as she bustled toward them.

* * *

Severus knocked on her door, feeling triumphant. A week's worth of toil had brought him a potential remedy, and he imagined the grateful look on Sarah's face when she realised that he had developed a cure.

"Come in." Her voice was muffled.

The door to her office opened with a creak, and she was sitting behind her desk, scrutinising a pile of objects in front of her. He sat down on the arm of a couch that had obviously seen better days.

Sarah seemed only mildly surprised to see him. "Yes?"

"I have been doing some research," he began. "I've spent the last week working on a rather interesting potion."

She looked at him expectantly. He noticed a bottle on the corner of her desk, and she turned to see what he was looking at. For a moment she looked faintly displeased, but then she turned back to him. "You do have a point, I presume."

He looked closer at the bottle. The label was in Polish, but he knew what it was immediately. "Strengthening Solution," he said, intrigued.

"Yes," she said curtly.

"But it's quite concentrated...Re'em blood, perhaps..."

"It is an entirely legal blend. You were saying..."

Suddenly it made sense. Her restless look...the inability to eat anything except the blandest of foods at every meal...she was addicted to Strengthening Solution. His eyes met hers, and she simply looked at him, waiting. "Er...yes. I have created a potion..." She could not have been addicted long, her eyes had not changed colour yet, nor did she seem possessed by any uncontrollable trembling.

"Yes," she said. "I understand. You've made a potion. Entirely believable, actually, since your current occupation at Hogwarts is that of Potions master."

He sneered. "You may find that you have quite an interest in this particular potion, as it is directly related to your...condition."

"Really." Something flashed in her eyes, a look of curiosity.

"Yes. I have brewed a counter-potion to the Lingering Wounds Potion. It should work, theoretically, by actually binding itself to the Lingering Wounds Potion, allowing me to draw it out with a little wandwork. It is a rather difficult solution...it only holds together for an hour or two, so the moment of application is particularly important. We'll have to time it well—"

She gave him an intense look. "No."

"What?" he said, standing up in surprise.

"I said no. I have no need for experimental potions."

He was speechless for a moment. "You can't possibly be telling me that you want to live like this," he said angrily.

"But Severus, that is precisely what I am telling you," she said evenly. "Now, I have talismans to mark..."

She was dismissing him. He wanted to grab her and shake her. "The cure for your pain is within reach," he said softly. "It is currently on my worktable. It will take only a small amount of time to apply. And you are telling me _no_? You will not even _tr_y?"

"Bizarre though it may seem to you," she said curtly, "I have not dwelled in a hole in the ground since the _incident_ occurred. My father..." For a moment she paused, looking upset. "My father contacted every potions maker of note in Europe. They were eager to try their antidotes on me. Some caused tremendous pain. Some caused a great deal worse than that. None worked. You will forgive me for not wanting to try again."

"This is different."

A humourless smile touched her lips. "Ah, yes. Different."

He could not believe that he was going to have to plead with her. He had imagined her being completely willing...he would cure her, and she would skip effortlessly out of Hogwarts, and he would not have to think of her or see her and feel guilt over her ever again. "This potion is different, Sarah. It is not only my own research, though I must tell you that I have researched it before, with no results of value. I was given a page..."

"A miraculous page from the notebook of some great alchemist of note," she said wryly. "Ah, let me guess...Imhotep? Flamel?"

He was taken aback. "Er...Flamel."

"I think that you have wasted enough of your precious time here," she said crisply. "Goodbye, Severus."

"Dumbledore gave it to me," he said softly. He was perversely satisfied to see a look of surprise on her face, and yet it grated on his nerves. Without Saint Dumbledore to vouchsafe him, she, like so many others, would never accept anything from him. "Yes, Dumbledore," he said, a little churlishly. "This page...this _miraculous_ page, as you so put it...pointed me in the correct direction, and I have managed to produce a _passable_ solution."

She looked at him thoughtfully. "Flamel."

"Yes," he said. "Flamel. And myself."

"I don't know," she began, but he could see the desire on her face, subtle though it was.

"It will be ready in an hour's time," he informed her. "I will administer it and then I will record the results in my notes."

"You seem fairly certain of it."

"It's a brilliant piece of brewing."

Still she seemed unsure. "You would need to bring it here..."

"Here? No, my lab is better prepared for such experimentation—"

"No," she said firmly. "I doubt highly that I will be able to walk up the stairs to my rooms afterwards. And I have no desire to share your company for the entire weekend, _pleasant_ though it must be. You will do it here, or it will not be done."

"But the cauldron...I would have to..." He raked a hand through his hair irritably, but remembered her pain, and the difficulty of her situation. "Very well. I will return within the hour."

"I have not yet agreed to this procedure," she reminded him.

He put his hands on her desk and leaned close to her, holding her eyes with his own, though it rankled to have to ask her in this manner. "Give me this chance."

"Very well," she sighed. "I will...prepare myself. The door is keyed to you now...it will let you in."

"I will return," he said, and headed for the door, beginning a mental list of the things he would need to bring with him on his later visit.


	24. Treatment

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.The counter-potion was nearly finished, and Severus worked efficiently, readying his notebook, his auto-quill, anything that he might need. He really would rather have performed the experiment here, in his classroom, where he could monitor everything fully. He scowled again. This was not working out as he had planned.

* * *

Once more he read the Flamel page, absorbing it yet again, though he had already committed it to memory. The elegant script put to shame his own less artistic lettering. He reread the suggestions for the accompanying wandwork twice.

He checked the cauldron again. The last stage of brewing was now complete, and the potion had assumed its innocent periwinkle hue. Taking a deep breath, he careful performed a Hovering Charm, only relaxing when the potion showed no sign of change. Taking the other supplies in hand he walked out of his classroom into the dungeon corridor, the cauldron following him obediently.

Going up the stairs was tricky, but he was careful, taking the steps backwards so that he could keep an eye on the brew. He crossed the entrance hall with long strides. It was nearly deserted, though the Weasley girl looked at him in surprise and raced off before he could detract points. He smirked.

Firenze was in the corridor, and Severus nodded at him. Hooves echoed on the hard floor as the centaur turned and went through the door to his own classroom. Severus wondered what the he must think, having left behind all of his kind to teach Divination to human children on Dumbledore's request, only to see Trelawney returned to her teaching post for the next term. Two teachers for a near-useless art. He knocked on Sarah's door, and entered.

Her office was just as it had been, though the Strengthening Solution was gone. The door that presumably led to her small suite of rooms was partially open, and he knocked, softly this time, and stepped through, making certain the cauldron was still behind him. He remembered Minerva telling Pomona about Sarah's dreadful display of Transfiguration, and having to help create her rooms. "Clearly she's forgotten nearly everything I taught her," Minerva had sniffed.

The room was nearly bare, and freezing. The windows were open, letting in the cold night air. There was no fire in the grate. It was even colder than her office had been.

She was lying on her bed, her head resting on her right arm, a blanket resting on top of her. Her pale eyes looked at him, and he could sense her apprehension.

"I have brought the potion," he said unnecessarily. She simply continued to stare at him. He forced himself to step closer. He couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Start with the wounds near my neck," she instructed tonelessly.

Carefully he lifted the blanket off her. There was a bandage around her upper left arm, and a thick piece of white material lay across her back. He peeled it back slowly and she winced. He covered his mouth and closed his eyes tightly for a moment, but it was to no avail. He could feel the burning heat of the wounds as it radiated from her torso.

"There is a chair if you need to sit down." Her voice was as flat as if she was giving directions to the Great Hall, and there was no trace of amusement at his reaction.

He opened his eyes and sat down gracelessly, the cauldron hovering in the air, the night breeze flowing through the room, the blood and heat still seeping from her wounds. It was as if Lucius had just inflicted them. He felt distinctly ill despite the cold air. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. The memories were too near. _Get up and finish this_, he said angrily to himself.

He stood and approached her again, trying to stamp down his emotions. A small, distant portion of his mind wondered anew at how she'd managed to cope with this for so long. The other unlucky recipients of this particular poison had died from complications or ended their own lives within days. He shivered. The livid crescent-shaped marks on her back were slowly oozing red. He knew without looking that they extended from neck to the small of her back, that the back of one thigh and her upper left arm were also decorated thusly, and that there were nearly two dozen of them because he had helped Lucius apply the Lingering Wounds Potion to every single one. The familiar shape of each cut was burned into his brain thanks to Lucius's predilection for it; the Slicing Charm that the elder Malfoy had developed was well known among the Death Eaters.

Severus's hands were shaking, and he turned to the cauldron. _Think of the potion_. He had to regain his mental balance. He could feel her eyes on him, piercing him. He took another deep breath.

He chose the mark closest to the base of her neck, one that must be chronically trying because of the pressure of her robes. It was inflamed slightly, and he fought off the remembrance of how it had first looked being carved into her unblemished skin. Using his wand he opened the wound slightly, causing more blood to leak out. He tried not to wince as she exhaled suddenly. Using energy from his wand to hold back a portion of skin he carefully applied a small amount of the periwinkle solution, which seemed to slowly absorb into the wound. Now he would wait for it to draw out the poison.

She murmured something then, and he realised that she had torn a hole in the blanket with her right hand. Still more pain for her. _This has to end_. But it was taking too long. Nothing had been drawn out. Perhaps the poison was too strongly entrenched in this particular wound.

He opened another wound and applied more of the antidote. He did not have much time. It could separate at any moment, and he wanted to pull it clear of her before it did, in case it caused a reaction. He chose a third and applied a larger amount. Looking at the time, he decided against any more. It was already beginning to look fruitless.

"Only three?" she said, gasping weakly. "You must...not think...it will work."

He cursed silently. Of course, after all the experimentation that she had been through...she would know. "It's still early," he said haltingly. "The potion has...time limits. I don't want to apply more and have it become inert while still in the wound."

She mumbled something that he could not make out. His auto-quill scribbled away as he began to describe the time, the treatment, and what he had done so far. He was watching the first wound carefully.

He looked at the cauldron, and his heart sank. Already the potion had darkened, though it would have been imperceptible to anyone but an experienced brewer. He only had a few moments more. He concentrated and spoke the incantation that he had prepared, carefully guiding the solution out of the first wound. The periwinkle of the antidote had turned a shade lighter. He proceeded to drain the solution out of the remaining two wounds. It did not appear to have changed. She coughed weakly. "Sarah," he began quietly. "I..." He did not want to say it, that he had failed again. He hated failure. He had caused her more pain, more agony. She coughed again. He watched as she shifted slightly. "It does not appear to have worked as well as I imagined."

"The first wound..." Her voice was rough. "It feels different."

Of course she would know intimately every nuance of her pain. He looked at the potion he had siphoned off from the wound, and it did appear lighter. The original potion had been the colour of almonds. Perhaps his antidote had managed to bring out a little. He examined it closer. "It looks as if the first application might have collected some of the poison..."

"It must need...concentration..."

His mind raced. Of course. He could make it stronger...have it ready for the exact moment it came into its potency..."I will brew it again," he said, absorbed in the formula. "I could reapply it...give it more time to work...this particular batch did not hold together well...by tomorrow I could—"

"No," she said faintly. "Not tomorrow."

Of course not...she needed time to recuperate. "Perhaps next Friday, then," he said.

"Yes. Good night, Severus."

He realised that she had just dismissed him, and he had to quell his immediate angry reaction. "Good night, Sarah," he answered stiffly, and left her, the cauldron bouncing along behind him as he stalked towards his own room already thinking of a tumbler of firewhisky and the warmth of a fire.

* * *

The pain was so intense that she could not seem to concentrate. Everything had blurred into one, agonising whirl. But her wand was in her hand. She grimaced and managed to clear her head for a moment. "_Accio_," she whispered.

There was a small noise, and the object of her desire struck her hand. She put the wand down and reached out, trembling, wrapping her fingers around the smooth, round stone. The Painstone she had created so many years ago. The only reason that she had not gone mad. She felt the welcoming tingle and closed her eyes. She had tried to forego it...she had used it only a handful of times since she'd come back to Hogwarts. But she could not avoid it. She was exhausted. Her back was on fire.

The Painstone was becoming warm, and she slowly began to siphon her pain into it. It hurt...she had to alleviate it...had to send the pain somewhere...it was only logical. The agony flowed through her into its gemstone prison. She sighed as the fire on her back began to approach a tolerable level. She severed the connection. Her eyes would not stay open, and she drifted into a dream where a soft rain was falling.


	25. Dream

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Sarah dreamt.

_The dark waters swallow her whole, but still she clings to her wand and her knife. Words form around her, hollow words with ragged letters that she does not recognise. They fold upon themselves and transform into silvery fish, wriggling and twitching in the water. There is a light below, and she moves toward it. Her lungs hurt. She breaks through the surface and swims awkwardly to an island made of discarded things. An orange moon touches everything with fey light. Someone sleeps on the shore, the waves slapping him carelessly. She can see a thick mane of blonde hair. "I have my knife. I have my wand." She says it again. He does not stir. She cannot bring herself to touch him. "My knife is sharp." There is a sound like parchment tearing. The air tastes like bitter wine. He is still and silent. There is a sound like teeth on a broken harpstring. "I know your son." He moves suddenly, and she is not surprised to see a green flash. She knows that she is dead before she falls back into the waters._

* * *

Severus noticed that Sarah's seat was suspiciously empty during breakfast. A glimmer of unease began to take hold. _She must have wanted to sleep in_, he thought to himself. _She's been late to meals before_. He tried not to think about it. Last night's events would have exhausted her, certainly, and he could understand if she wanted to skip breakfast.

He returned to his classroom. The stack of work on his desk was formidable. He had parchments to mark, potions to test, detentions to arrange. All he had done for a week was brew and obsess over the antidote, and everything had piled up. He concentrated on doling out liberal amounts of red ink and succeeded in thinking of nothing except the uses of boomslang skin for a few hours.

But then she was absent for lunch as well. Severus began to worry as he half-listened to Silas telling some longwinded story about triplets and Squibs that grated on his nerves. Minerva had a long-suffering look on her face.

Sybill, oddly enough, showed up halfway through the meal. She smiled graciously at the rest of the teachers and poured herself some tea. Silas greeted her heartily and began to retell the story. Severus gritted his teeth and left as quickly as he could. Silas was bad enough. Silas with Sybill and a repeated tale about a triumvirate of sibling witches and their magically-challenged offspring could only be excruciating.

Draco stopped him as he strode past the Slytherin table. "Father wishes to invite you to a special soiree," he said, loudly enough that most of the Slytherin table looked their way. "To celebrate his homecoming."

"Ah," he replied, though inwardly he groaned. Trust Draco to try to use this piece of information to inflate his social prestige. The first years within earshot were staring in wonder. If he reacted too positively it would send out the wrong signals to the rest of the Slytherins. If he reacted too negatively... "I shall await his owl." _And a headache as well_. Lucius could be called a friend, to be certain, but there would be others there, and Severus would have to practice his Occlumency all evening long.

Draco smirked. "He is sending them out today, sir."

Severus inclined his head ever so slightly, and strode out into the entrance hall. Deserted, including the hall leading to her rooms. _Sarah is not my responsibility_, he told himself angrily. _I am not her keeper_. His feet, however, nearly began to walk in the wrong direction. He stubbornly forced them to the dungeons.

The classroom looked messy to him, and it was a source of annoyance. He began to put things to order. He inventoried his rare components. If he was going to brew the potion for Sarah again he had to restock. The counter-potion had to be refined, and he was low on some of the key ingredients. He was about to apply another locking charm to the door of his supply cabinet when he suddenly had a vivid flash of her lying on the floor of her room, looking very much as she had years ago when they had left her for dead. He could not suppress a shiver.

He swore soundly and stalked up the stairs to the entrance hall. His robes billowed out behind him as he entered the corridor and knocked on her door impatiently. There was no answer. He knocked again, and his unease increased tenfold when there was no reply. His mind would not dispel the dark images of her bloodied, battered form splayed in the dirt. He opened the door himself and entered her office. Empty. The door to her room was closed, and he rushed towards it and burst in, his heart hammering in his chest, irrationally expecting the worst.

She was standing near her bed, clad only in undergarments, her hands entwined in a charcoal grey set of robes. As he stood there awkwardly, his face burning in acute embarrassment, she used her good hand to draw the robe over her head, working her left arm into it carefully. She seemed paler than usual.

"I—you were not at breakfast. Or lunch." He flushed at the clumsiness of his words.

"No, I was not," she agreed tonelessly. Her face was blank, unreadable.

"I thought, perhaps, that you were—not faring well after last night's treatment."

"I am as well as I can possibly be under the circumstances."

"Ah. Then I will leave you to your privacy," he said, regaining his mental balance. _You are a fool_, he told himself savagely.

She nodded then, and he walked to her office door and opened it. Outside stood Potter and both of the Weasley pests, all staring at him as if the Dark Lord himself was leaving her rooms. He scowled at them. They were wearing Quidditch robes, begrimed from practice.

"We're here for help in Talismans," said the Weasley girl, a little too innocently. He narrowed his eyes at her. Definitely lying. But what else could they want?

Sarah came up behind him. "Come in," she told the students. He turned to look at her, taking in her bare feet on the cold stone floor, the lightweight robe, her too-thin body, the dark circles under her eyes..."Good day, Severus," she said.

"Good day," he replied stiffly, and he left for the sanctuary of the dungeons, where he fervently hoped he would not think of her again.

* * *

Harry was surprised. Professor Tanner looked pale and dishevelled. She had always seemed so composed before. "Er...we were just finishing Quidditch practice..."

"Yes?" she said flatly.

"And I realised that I hadn't arranged the next DA meeting with you," he said in a rush.

"We were hoping that it could be Tuesday," said Ginny, "because we have Quidditch practices for the other nights."

"That is considerably less than seven days' notice," said Tanner.

Harry flushed. "Yes, I know, but we don't always have the time to—"

"There is nothing on my timetable for that evening," she said. "I do not foresee any problems with holding it then."

"Thank you," said Ron.

"Er...Colin said that you missed breakfast and lunch," said Harry, feeling a bit nervous at asking such a question of a professor.

"I don't understand why my dining habits would be of interest to you," she said evenly.

"We'll just be leaving, then," said Ginny brightly.

After the door had shut behind them, Ginny turned to Harry in disbelief. "Why did you ask her that?"

Remembering that Professor Tanner had heard them through the door before, Harry began to walk down the corridor with them. "I just...she looks awful," he said.

"Sort of...wrung out," added Ron.

"Well, I'm back out on the field," she said decisively. "I promised to help Dennis with a few of the Quidditch moves."

"Bye," said Ron. She turned and left.

"Let's go find Hermione," said Harry. Ron nodded.


	26. It's Called Research

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Harry took another bite of the pastry. As usual, lunch at Hogwarts was a huge mix of delicious food, and he once again felt tremendously happy about being home.

History of Magic had been boring, as always, and he almost wished that he hadn't bothered re-taking the exam in order to be placed back into the snooze-inducing class. It seemed so strange, as well, to go straight from yawning to stressing under Snape's nose in his most dreaded class. Mondays. He took one last bite of the pastry and licked his fingers. The only good thing about them was that neither he nor Hermione and Ron had an afternoon class.

"I've alerted the others to the meeting for tomorrow," said Hermione quietly.

Ginny was frantically scrawling a Potions essay for Snape, and it was obviously a losing battle. She was shoving food in her mouth as she scribbled away, oblivious to everyone else.

"I wonder where McGonagall and Dumbledore have gotten to," said Ron, looking at the head table.

"Some meeting at the Ministry of Magic?" wondered Harry.

Hermione turned to look. "Odd, isn't it..."

"Ginny," said Neville quietly, "you put essence of Hellebore in the Draught of Peace, not essence of Hellhound." They all turned to stare at him and he flushed. "Well, I should know, I did it by accident," he said defensively.

"You're just lucky that you're not taking Potions this term," said Ron unhappily. Neville frowned, and Harry realised that Neville had no chance of following in his parents' footsteps now because of his failure in Potions. He suddenly felt very sorry for Neville. He squirmed a little inside when he realised how lucky he'd been that McGonagall had bullied Snape into letting him take Snape's class. Neville had no such luck.

"Ginny, the bell's about to ring," said Hermione nervously. "And you're nowhere near complete." Sure enough, the bell sounded only moments later, and Ginny got up, continuing to write distractedly as she walked off towards the dungeons.

"What now?" said Ron as the rest of the students filed off to their classes.

"Is Hagrid teaching? We could visit him," said Harry thoughtfully. He watched as the few remaining teachers left the hall.

"You both should be studying Potions," said Hermione disapprovingly.

* * *

At lunch Severus noticed that Sarah simply stared at the porridge in her bowl, not even attempting to stir it.

The Headmaster and Minerva were gone, though he had no idea where. Sybill, of course, had not shown up. Which left Sarah nearly alone, except for Silas, who was trying to involve her in a conversation. The man had probably never spent a quiet moment in his entire life.

"...ah, if you saw the Gytrash in its natural environment...an astonishing beast. It is quite a feat to capture one, but my students at the time were brave and we managed."

She said nothing in response.

"I find that the old adage is quite true," he continued. "Travel broadens the mind. Once we are introduced to something new, it becomes a part of us and influences us in ways that we don't even fully recognise ourselves." Silas took a swig of his pumpkin juice. "It is so important to experience new things...to stride off into the wilderness, and come to terms with Nature..." The eavesdropping spell was working flawlessly, of course, and Severus nearly snorted at the idea of the fastidious professor roughing it in the wild. He glanced briefly at Aurora, but she was involved in a lengthy discussion with Pomona of herbs named after constellations and their possible connections.

"Have you travelled anywhere of note yourself?" Silas asked Sarah genially. She did not answer at first, but then seemed to realise that he was asking her a direct question. "I have always thought that wizards are tremendously lucky. After all, to be able to Apparate...it certainly is the most useful tool for the perennial traveller. Where do you go on holiday, Sarah?"

She had an odd look on her face. "Holiday?" she asked flatly.

"Oh, come now, you can't tell me that you've spent your entire life in England," he said jovially, as if it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "You have to have visited some country of note. Why, I quite prefer Morocco in the spring..." Severus nearly choked on his wine as he pictured the ginger-haired man on a camel. "Is there no other country that you've seen?"

She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes glancing for a single moment to Severus and then back to Silas. "Germany," she said finally.

"Really?" he said enthusiastically. "Ah, yes, I was there...during the War, actually. I must say, their beer is outstanding." She was perfectly still. "Yes, the defeat of Grindelwald...must say, it was quite the experience for me, young lad that I was at the time." He paused dramatically. "What sights were you there for, might I ask? I can well imagine that you toured the actual site of the Final Confrontation...a popular place. I didn't get to see the end of Grindelwald, unfortunately; I was laid up with a particularly troublesome hex. Did you take the Wattleby Tour of the famous battle scenes?"

"No," she replied.

Unfazed, he continued. "Or perhaps you were there for one of Jurgen Kuefer's seminars. He really is quite talented in his area of expertise. Then there are the enchantingly lovely Magische Gärten near Straubing. Beautiful and haunting..." Still she did not answer. "Was your trip guided?"

"I lived there," she said very softly.

His eyebrows raised. "Really? How interesting." Severus could tell that it was far more than interesting to Silas. He was getting her to admit to something. What could possibly be untoward about Sarah living in Germany? "Perhaps you stayed with some relation..."

"No." Her face was completely expressionless.

"Perhaps you eloped there."

"No."

"I daresay that you want instruction in the art of conversation," he said waspishly.

"Good day, Silas," she said in the same flat tone, and stood up slowly. She walked away stiffly. Severus expected some sort of exasperated remark from Silas, but instead Silas only stared after her with a calculated expression on his face. Severus carefully continued to sip the last of his wine and tried to appear as if he hadn't noticed a thing. He realised suddenly that Aurora was looking at him expectantly.

"What?" he said.

She looked at him knowingly. "Was your eavesdropping spell pointed the wrong way? Poor Severus. I said, 'Do you know where the Headmaster and Minerva have gone.'"

She had caught him in the act, but knowing Aurora, she would not mention it to Silas. She enjoyed her own little games. "I haven't the faintest idea," he said curtly.

She smirked, and sipped her own wine while studying him. "You are interested in her," she said lightly.

He turned towards her suddenly. "Don't be daft," he spat. The very idea made his stomach turn.

She chuckled softly. "You can't stop watching her...you sneak to her room on Saturday...you barely leave your own rooms...you miss meals...you listen in on her conversations..."

Curse her for paying attention. She was a Slytherin to her very core, and observation was the key to intelligence, as he well knew himself. What to say now...his mind raced. He did not want to reveal too much. "I am researching," he said simply.

"Is that what you call it?" She put her hand in front of her mouth to hide her laughter. Her cheeks were pink with restrained mirth. He scowled and stalked off to his dungeons, where his fifth years had gathered for class.


	27. DA Meeting: Interrupted

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Harry surveyed the room, and was happy to see that most of the DA were nearly caught up on the review of the spells that they had practiced last term. Neville was doing so well that Harry ended up asking him to help partner Cho, as she had fallen behind a little. The Disarming Curse could be performed without a hitch by everyone present. The Impediment Curse was also progressing very well. It wasn't quite as easy as it had been in the Room of Requirement, where everything was provided so easily, but they were managing. Even Professor Tanner had come through by somehow procuring cushions for the lesson despite being given such short notice.Hermione and Ron were practicing the Stunning Charm with good results. "Harry," said Hermione when she saw him. He stopped. "I saw Moaning Myrtle in the Prefects' Bathroom today." 

"Really?" he said, watching as Luna's Disarming Curse flew off and struck Neville instead of her partner.

"She was hiding in a corner," she added.

"That's great," he said distractedly.

"Great?" asked Hermione. "Well, it certainly means we have more privacy in the second floor bathroom. But I just wonder why she chose to leave it."

"Who cares?" said Ron irritably. "I say we're the luckier for it."

Harry had to agree. Myrtle was annoying, and if she had chosen to haunt another room in the castle—especially a room that he didn't have to visit—then he was happier still. He walked over to Ginny and corrected her pronunciation. Besides, Myrtle was a ghost. He couldn't see why it would be of any concern that she had changed haunts.

He let a little more time elapse, and then called their attention again. "I'd like to cover the Shield Charm today," he began. "I know that we've gone over it in our regular classes, but it's a really handy spell to know, and it helps to practice." Hermione nodded in agreement. "All right, stay with your partners...one person will be casting the Shield Charm when the other casts—"

There was a knock at the door. Harry looked at Professor Tanner. "Enter," she said.

The door swung open, and Professor Marten walked in. "Ah, Sarah..." He trailed off and looked at the students.

"Er," said Harry. "We were just..." He could feel the heat rising in his face.

"Ah, the little Defence Against the Dark Arts organisation," he said, fingering his goatee. "I was wondering who was hosting your meetings..."

"Is there something you wish to discuss?" asked Professor Tanner.

"Well, yes...but it can wait. Oh, don't let me disturb you in the least, Mr. Potter. Please continue. I am certain that it will be quite...educational." He sat down in one of the chairs, and turned an expectant face towards Harry.

Harry looked at Professor Tanner, who was staring at him, offering no help whatsoever. "Er...well, the Shielding Charm...er..." He faltered. The entire group stared at him, and he suddenly couldn't recall the spell.

"I've seen it used," said Hermione determinedly. She shot Professor Marten a look that was nearly a glare. "It really is helpful. The incantation is _Protego_."

"Yes," said Harry, regaining his balance. "The wand motion is this." He demonstrated it briefly. "It blocks or deflects spells, and it can come in handy. You need to cast it either just before or while the other person is casting—" He broke off when he realised that Marten was standing next to him now.

"What Mr. Potter says is factual enough," said Marten. "However, I wonder if any of you have read through your textbooks and can understand the magical theory behind this charm. There are a variety of things to consider when casting it, such as momentum, distance, placement—"

"Yes, we've covered that in class," said Harry. "We're just going to practice it against different spells now. Partners, decide who is casting the Disarming Charm and who is casting the Shield—"

Marten turned to him, aghast. "Surely you're going to cover Ogden's Rule of Distance for Shielding Charms!"

Harry couldn't remember Ogden or his rule. "Er...no. We're just going to practice the charm."

"I daresay that this is the worst excuse for a lesson I have experienced," he said stiffly. "If you aren't going to cover essential theory, how can you expect your group to understand what they're doing?"

"I don't want to cover theory," said Harry, gritting his teeth. "This is practice. We get enough theory in class."

Silas flushed at that. "And what good is practice without understanding its purpose? Why, that is ludicrous!"

"Silas," said Tanner. Unnoticed, she had walked up next to them. "This is an extracurricular group organised by Mr. Potter, and he has the right to decide its lesson plan."

He seemed put out. "I have a right to know what they are being taught. I am the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher here at Hogwarts, and as such they fall under my jurisdiction."

"This is an extracurricular group, and it falls under the jurisdiction of the supervisory teacher and the Headmaster," she said evenly.

"Ah, yes," he said. "The Headmaster. I'm certain that he will be quite interested to hear what is going on here."

"He said we could have our group as long as we had a chaperone," broke in Harry.

"But did he approve your choice?" asked Marten. "Have you gone through the proper channels, as you should have? Did you consider that Professor Tanner's subject is actually a subset of Charms and that she is ill-equipped to monitor this group?"

"Er...no," said Harry, feeling distinctly embarrassed.

"Ah, I see," said Marten smoothly. "Very well, I'll just pop into the Headmaster's Office and have a little chat with him..." He walked out of the classroom, looking distinctly displeased.

Hermione looked upset. "What are we going to do? Oh, Harry, why didn't you ask Professor Dumbledore?"

"I just...he didn't say I had to," said Harry, feeling equally upset.

"I'm certain that it will be fine," said Professor Tanner. "Now, it is getting late, and nothing more can be accomplished tonight. You should return to your dormitories."

No one spoke as they put the classroom back in order. Harry felt defeated when they reached the Fat Lady.

"Dragonhide gloves," said Neville. The portrait opened and they entered the common room.

"Listen, mate, I'm sure Dumbledore will approve," said Ron, trying to cheer him up.

"If Dumbledore hadn't wanted Professor Tanner to chaperone the DA, he would have said so," said Hermione firmly.

Still, he couldn't help but get in bed and stare at the canopy, unable to sleep, doubt welling up in his mind.

* * *

Severus wrapped his cloak tighter and cursed, for what felt like the thousandth time, the Apparition guards that prevented him from simply appearing at the front doors. Time and time again he had to endure the cold, the wet, and the danger of the Forbidden Forest. He shivered. The warming charm he had cast had worn off quicker than he would have liked, but he had no time to stop and respell it, nor did he want to draw any more attention to himself at this time of night.

The meeting had been another waste of time. He had learned no useful information. Worse, he had ended up revealing a good deal more about Silas. He cursed inwardly. He almost wished that the Dark Lord would just take the nasty little bastard and be done with it. It was bewildering, this undue interest. Certainly Silas was a competent teacher, but it seemed ridiculous to be focusing so heavily on his everyday habits.

At least Lucius had returned, which deflected some of the considerable attention that had been placed upon him all too often as of late. The blonde-haired wizard was to be restored to his position on the Board of Governors, much to the distress of Dumbledore and his supporters. Lucius would be able to supply more crucial information about Hogwarts than Severus ever could. He had looked fully recovered from his stay in Azkaban, and had mentioned the soiree on Friday night. Severus promised to come. The evening had passed quickly after that, and he had been dismissed early. Again.

He stumbled suddenly and nearly fell. The terrain was difficult enough during the day, but at night it was near impassable. He dared not bring a light with him and call attention to himself, which made it even trickier. At least Hagrid's hut was within view now. He came out of the forest with a near palpable sense of relief.

"Evenin', Professor," said Hagrid quietly. He was going into the forest.

"Good evening, Hagrid," he replied. He noticed the crossbow in the half-giant's hand. What could he possibly be doing in the forest this late at night? He pushed those thoughts out of his mind. He needed to see Dumbledore, and he needed to sleep. He shivered again as he reached the doors. Turning, he looked back into the evening fog. There was no sign of Hagrid or his awful canine companion. He entered the school, mentally readying his report.


	28. The Teacup

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

**Author's Note: **Wow, Taya, thank you for the incredible praise! I appreciate it tremendously! This is a short chapter, I know, but the next will be longer. Enjoy.

* * *

It didn't occur to Severus until the next morning that he had agreed to attend Lucius's party on the same night that he had promised to reapply the potion for Sarah. Right in class he trailed off in the middle of a sentence, and his third years stared at him. He finished the assignment aloud and glared at them. They jumped into motion.

He sat at his desk and racked his brain for how to get out of this mess. The potion required near constant monitoring for part of its brewing sequence. He could not simply start it and leave for Malfoy Manor. Nor would he be in any shape to create it following the soiree. It was far too complicated. It would have to be administered Saturday evening. He began to relax. He would simply ask her to reschedule. After all, he doubted that she had any social activities to attend.

A loud bang startled him. He looked up just in time to see Dennis Creevey's cauldron melt spectacularly. "Five points from Gryffindor," he said irritably.

* * *

"Good morning, class," said Professor Marten, smiling.

"Good morning, Professor Marten," chanted the class in unison.

"D'you think he asked Professor Dumbledore about you yet?" asked Ron quietly as he opened up his textbook.

"I don't know," said Harry. The Defence teacher did look unusually cheery.

"Now, I know that we had originally slated today's lesson for studying the effects of aconite on werewolves," he began. "However, it has been brought to my attention that studying the Shield Charm is, in fact, a far better use of our time." He paused and smiled even wider, and Harry resisted the urge to slide under his desk. "A review is in order, and, as proper theory is the _key_ to understanding and applying magic, we will be covering that today."

Ron looked at Harry with a glum expression on his face. "Great."

"Now, who can explain Ogden's Rule of Distance for Shielding Charms?"

* * *

The bell had just rung, and Sarah watched as the class filed out. She was still surprised that any seventh years had signed up for her course, considering that there was no N.E.W.T. exam currently offered for Talismans. She was even more surprised that they seemed motivated at all, especially with so much energy being devoted to preparations for the tests. She looked over the amulets that they had left on her desk. More than one seemed complete.

She stepped out of the classroom, closing the door. Most of the students were filing into the Great Hall. She began her slow walk across the entrance hall.

She heard the rustling of robes, and turned to see Severus walking out of the dungeons. Though he looked tightly under control as always, she could see that he was tense about something. "Sarah," he said.

"Yes." She wondered dispassionately if he understood how his voice had haunted her years ago, that at one time the mere thought of it had made her feel like she was being flayed alive.

"I regret..."

She stopped and turned fully to face him.

He looked uncomfortable. "I have a...pressing engagement Friday night. I must ask that we reschedule the...application."

"Ah." If it was done on Saturday, she might not have enough time to recover. Then again, she had no classes on Monday.

He seemed to think that she had taken some offense, because his voice became quiet and he flushed slightly. "I cannot possibly decline the invitation—"

"Nor would I ask it of you," she replied evenly. "Would you be available Saturday evening?"

He seemed to calm himself a little. "Yes, that would be acceptable."

"Very well then." She began anew her walk to lunch.

He strode off. She arrived at the Head Table somewhat later, only to discover that Sybill was attending the meal. Sarah sat down stiffly. For the last two weeks the porridge had mysteriously been showing up right next to her plate. She wondered if Dobby the house-elf had something to do with it. Spooning herself a small portion, she stared at it. Her stomach did not seem like it was going to cooperate.

"Ah, my dear," said Sybill genially. "I do not believe that we have talked at any length, but my Inner Eye showed us having a conversation, so I left my tower and decided to join you for lunch."

Sarah could hear Silas cover a chuckle with a cough. "A conversation about what, exactly?" she said.

"Oh, the burden...I cannot reveal it without influencing the outcome," she said, pouring two cups of tea. "Suffice it to say, I offered to read your tea leaves."

Just the thought of tea nearly made her ill right at the table. "Then you must also have seen me refuse your offer," Sarah said.

"Ah, yes," said Sybill tremulously. "You refused..."

Silas reached across Sarah and took one of the cups. "Ah, Sybill, dear, if you're offering readings, then I've a mind to take you up on it." He sipped his tea thoughtfully. "You know, in Germany a young Gypsy girl named Lyddi once told my fortune...delightful girl, she was...told me I had been in danger of death three times...that I would find a lovely fat wife..." Sybill looked at him curiously. "Perhaps I misheard her. I did find a lovely fat tankard at the next biergarten, however." He smirked.

"The Inner Eye is nothing to mock," said Sybill in a huffy tone.

"Ah, but was she truly blessed with the Inner Eye?" he said. "I do not think so. I am quite certain that I have been in danger of death far more than three times. Still...a pleasant way to spend an afternoon..." He took another sip of his tea.

Sarah willed herself to put a spoonful of porridge in her mouth. The addiction had progressed predictably, and she found herself more and more lacking in appetite. _I must try_, she reminded herself. She did not have a lot of the Strengthening Solution left, after all, and she knew what the next stage would be like if she didn't start eating now. She took another bite and a sip of water.

Silas handed his teacup across Sarah to Sybill, who perused it, beads rattling, her magnified eyes looming over the fragile porcelain. "Ahhh...yes...I see...there is a snail in your cup."

"A snail?" said Silas, wrinkling his brow.

"Yes...a warning from the Fates...clearly you are proceeding too quickly in some important matter...you need to slow down..." She peered closer. "But the snail is, indeed, a lucky fellow, and you will win out in the end." She smiled triumphantly and handed the cup back to him.

Silas looked at the soggy leaves in the bottom of the cup, fascinated. "I've always thought that Divination has been treated unfairly as a subject," he said happily. "Interesting...very interesting...winning out in the end...yes..."

If her stomach hadn't already turned enough from the porridge, this put it over the edge. "Good day," she said quietly, standing and putting her napkin down. She walked away.

"So much for your conversation," said McGonagall dryly.

"Ah, but it has accomplished what it was meant to," said Sybill dramatically.


	29. The Malfoy Affair

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Severus raised the glass of firewhisky to his lips. No Old Ogden's for Lucius, of course; this was premium, smooth, knock-you-under-the-table-if-you-weren't-paying-attention liquor. But of course he was paying attention. He always paid attention.

For a Malfoy affair, it was low-key. Severus savoured his drink, relishing the taste. Lucius had purposely invited fewer people than usual, no doubt attributing it to his recent release from Azkaban. His most staunch supporters and allies were there, as well as some of his friends. Despite its rushed nature, it was still an impressive fete. He reopened his eyes to see Fudge laughing with Lucius.

_Your friend, with the predilection for pain_. Sarah's words suddenly rushed back to him. He grimaced. She was, of course, correct, though it was a gross oversimplification. Severus had always been a little in awe of Lucius. Beautiful, grand, impressive...those were Lucius adjectives, while he had always been left with dark, greasy, and unpleasant. He downed the rest of the firewhisky. Lucius kept him around because of his position at Hogwarts and his potion-making abilities, and Severus wisely never took it for granted. He knew all too well what happened to those who asked too much from Lucius.

"Ah, Severus," said Narcissa in her mock-sweet way. "So good of you to come. You're looking well." She eyed his robes—his best dress robes—but he knew by the unchanging look on her face that they did not meet her exacting standards. Her hair was shining in the light, icy blonde, with a few artful coils lazily bobbing at her temple.

"Thank you for the invitation," he said stiffly.

"Of course." She paused for a moment. "Draco has been telling me about a new professor at Hogwarts...a Talismans professor."

"Yes, she is a guest instructor at Hogwarts," he said, but inwardly he was puzzled.

"Lucius tells me that he surprised her in a corridor and that she became hostile," continued Narcissa. She was a master actress, and her feigned indifference would truly have been something to behold, except that he could sense with his limited Legilimency the real doubt lurking underneath.

_Think. What does she want? _"We live in difficult times," he said, praying that he wasn't being too enigmatic. "Some of us are a little...defensive."

She looked at him curiously, and then beckoned a house-elf towards them. "More firewhisky for Professor Snape," she ordered. It scurried off to obey. Turning back to Severus, she licked her lips slowly. "I am wondering...if perhaps he knew her previously," she said carefully.

_Fool_, he thought angrily to himself. _What would Malfoy have told her_? "She did attend Hogwarts," he said neutrally. "He may have met her there."

She leaned closer. Severus took in the beautiful lines of her face, the exquisite gown she wore. He could sense the delicate scent of her rare and unusual perfume. "I remember her," she said softly. "She was no prize."

He shook his head, almost afraid to say anything further.

"Here," she said, removing the empty firewhisky glass from his hand. The house-elf obediently took it from her and handed her a fresh tumbler. She pressed the new glass into Severus's hand. She stared at him, and for a moment she reminded him of Sirius, and felt a glimmer of unreasoning hatred rise within him. "My husband...he is a beautiful man," she said suddenly, staring to where Lucius stood, still deep in conversation with the Minister of Magic. "Some women...women who are lacking...they want that very badly."

He nearly choked on the whisky. Narcissa could not possibly think that Sarah had seduced Lucius. He wanted to laugh. The very thought was ludicrous. Though he had to admit...Narcissa understood Lucius very well, and his indiscretions. She was afraid that he had sullied himself with a Mudblood, and an unattractive one at that. Of course she forgave him his affairs; he was tremendously discreet, always choosy, and she knew well on which side the bread was buttered. He absently traced the Malfoy crest on the crystal was his thumb for a moment. It suddenly became clear to him. Lucius had left Hogwarts after the altercation with Sarah and come home for the first time in months. Yet instead of being properly moved at the sight of her, he had been flustered about seeing Sarah. Now he understood. "I doubt you have anything to worry about," he said, holding her eyes with his own. "He spoke to her only for a moment, I believe, and then I escorted him to Draco."

Still her eyes doubted. "There was something about seeing her," she said very softly. "He was angry...but also..." She straightened the sleeve of her dress and looked at the floor, biting her lip.

He knew what she was alluding to. Severus had seen Lucius at the height of his rather considerable tastes. Sarah had been something of a pinnacle for Lucius in some way, and to see her again had brought that unhealthy gleam to his eye, and Narcissa could not help but notice, despite her carefully constructed oblivion toward his infidelities. "He has not...indulged in that particular whim in years," he said cautiously. "I do not think that there is anything there to fear."

She looked at him again with only a guarded sense of relief, and seemed to return to her senses. "Oh...I am neglecting the other guests. Please forgive me, I must see to the Minister." She gracefully inclined her head towards Severus and then walked toward Fudge, once again completely composed.

There was a time when Severus would have done nearly anything to have the beautiful Narcissa as his wife.

She smiled and offered Fudge a fresh drink, her entire bearing conveying graciousness. She preferred Malfoy Manor to a small room at Hogwarts, and he couldn't fault her for that. Nor, upon years' acquaintance with her, did he think that either of them would have been satisfied with the union.

It was troublesome, though, her unease...though perhaps she was concerned that Lucius's weakness would destroy her standing. After all, how could she feel about his return to the Death Eaters after so many years? She enjoyed the privileges and power of her social standing, and would be angry at anything that threatened them.

He surveyed his surroundings again. Ministry officials were rubbing elbows with pureblooded high society people. Very few Death Eaters had been invited. He was certain that his own invitation was only due to Lucius's insistence. A lovely harp was playing itself, filling the room with quiet, shivering notes. The decorations were, as always, elegantly refined, even more so in an attempt to give the Malfoys the appearance of upstanding citizens.

It was getting late, and some had already made their apologies and left. Severus found himself half-listening to a conversation between Percy Weasley and another official. He grimaced. Certainly he was the only one of the redheaded clan who possessed any real flair, but it was quite obvious that he was in over his head. Severus remembered teaching the boy. He had been an excellent student, not above attempting blackmail in his seventh year, though it failed miserably due to his Gryffindor-like approach. At the moment he was staunchly defending his latest promotion.

"Severus." Lucius was at his side then, wearing his most restrained set of dress robes. It did not hide his unusual paleness, or the thinness of his face, due to Azkaban, no doubt. "Have you seen my latest acquisition?" Lucius took him ungently by the elbow and pulled him toward one of the side rooms. Severus had been in this particular room before. There were many paintings on the wall, each hidden by its own set of velvet draperies. Lucius gestured, and the curtains parted, revealing a woman sleeping in a bed. A man opened the door, closing it and locking it behind himself, and Severus did not really have to watch to know what happened next.

"Your usual artist?" he asked.

"Yes," said Lucius, his grey eyes lit from within as he devoured the scene. The man in the painting was ripping off the woman's nightgown as she shrieked. Severus tried not to appear unsettled as the tableau played out. Lucius looked around, then murmured the counter-spell to the eavesdropping spell out of habit. "Severus, Nott has told me that there is to be a...special meeting for us," he said quietly, though his eyes kept straying to the bloody scene above them.

"A special meeting?" asked Severus, immediately concerned.

"Yes," said Lucius. "It is a week from tomorrow, during the afternoon."

Severus was surprised. Death Eater meetings nearly always took place at night. "Unusual."

"A new member will be given the Mark that day," he added.

"Ah." It made sense now, and Severus felt a profound sense of relief. During the Dark Lord's earlier reign a meeting during the day had sometimes spelled the end to a traitor.

The scene was drawing to its inevitable conclusion, and Lucius could not hide a predatory smile. "A beautiful piece of work...I shall have to commission another soon." There was a sudden gleam in his eye that troubled Severus, though he did not know why.


	30. The Second Application

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Severus checked his notes carefully. The key to brewing a more concentrated version of the potion for Sarah was to pay attention. He yawned. He still felt sluggish after last night. Too much firewhisky and conjecture about Narcissa and Lucius and a new, mysterious Death Eater meeting had given him truly awful nightmares. He turned his attention back to his notes. He had to be precise. The slightest mistake would destroy the finicky solution.

There was a knock at his door, and he scowled. Who could be bothering him now? He relaxed when Dumbledore stepped through.

"Good morning, Severus," said the Headmaster cheerily.

"Good morning," he said. He rubbed his eyes.

"You look in need of rest." He came closer. "Ah...Flamel's notes were helpful, I see."

"Yes, very," said Severus. "Unfortunately, the potions that I've brewed have been only stable for an hour."

"A shame," said Dumbledore with real regret. "But I am certain that with repeated applications, some damage may be undone."

"Yes, I think so."

"You will be interested to know that I have completed my report for the Minister of Magic." The Headmaster looked at him, smiling.

"And Sarah?" asked Severus.

"Sarah...yes, I have completed her report as well." He eyed Severus thoughtfully.

"Will they continue to let her teach here?"

Dumbledore smiled enigmatically. "Yes...they do not have much of a choice, after all. Without a violation, or a witness to some wrongdoing, they can do nothing to remove her." There was a faint chime, and he pulled his pocket watch out of a pocket of his robe. He consulted it for a moment, then put it away again. "Minerva asked me to mention next weekend's Hogsmeade visit to you," he said. "She was hoping that you would be available to chaperone the students. Most of the teachers will apparently be absent on that day."

Severus thought of the Death Eater meeting with near-relief. "No, I will be engaged in other...matters."

Both of them knew exactly what he meant. "Ah, I see. I will let her know. Good day to you, Severus."

"Good day," replied Severus quietly. He concentrated on the potion in front of him.

* * *

Sarah was waiting for him exactly as she had been the week before. Except she was fast asleep. The doors were certainly keyed to him...they had swung open silently to admit him with no help from her.

He positioned the cauldron on the nightstand. "Sarah?" he asked. There was no response. Her face was relaxed in slumber, the usual blankness replaced with a soft expression that surprised him. "Sarah," he repeated. The potion was the perfect color, and he knew he couldn't afford to waste time; he had to wake her. He put his hand on her left arm, well below the seeping wound that graced it.

She opened her eyes and reacted by drawing her arm to herself tightly. "What—" she said groggily. She fixed him with a shocked look. "You..."

"I am here as requested," he said stiffly.

"I was asleep," she said suddenly, looking around.

"Your grasp on the obvious is inspiring."

She blinked a few times. She still held her arm protectively, despite the new stress it was causing to the wound. "Enough. Get on with it."

"You should relax," he said, trying to sound nonchalant as he mentally prepared the incantation. She reluctantly lay down again, and he noticed that she kept most of her left arm covered.

The potion waited, its periwinkle colour ridiculously cheery for the purpose that it was fulfiling. He started with the wound near the back of her neck, and noticed that it looked a little less inflamed. It was heartening. He gathered some of the liquid and applied it with care. Four more applications, and he noticed that the main portion was getting close to the halfway point. She was gasping weakly.

He watched and waited, giving the solution time to draw the old potion out. His mind wandered for a moment. Why had she covered her arm? And her left arm, at that. He thought of his own left forearm, and the hideous tattoo that decorated it. For a moment he froze. She could not possibly be hiding the Dark Mark. No. He refused to even entertain the thought. After all, she had nothing that the Dark Lord would ever desire. But still...he recalled the meeting with Fudge, and how she had been linked to the Dark Arts...

A wave of shame assaulted him. Certainly it was his own evil-doing that had caused others to think of her that way. The potion was malevolent, one of the worst Dark potions, and it would certainly set off any Dark Detector nearby. There could be other explanations for her reticence. Perhaps she had some unsightly magical scarring there. Perhaps it was the result of a spell gone wrong. He had no right to pry, nor question her so. After all, how could anyone, faced with what she had faced that night, voluntarily join the Dark Lord? Ridiculous.

The potion in the cauldron was beginning to change, and he snapped back to reality. Carefully he teased the solution out of the wounds, examining it closely. All five of the applications had definitely drawn out some of the original potion. They were lighter, and their viscosity was altered. It was anyone's guess whether it would make a difference or not. Hastily he jotted down notes, bottled and labeled the samples and checked the cauldron again. The antidote had separated. So much for the priceless ingredients he had sacrificed. He frowned. He would have to remember to make next week's brew smaller.

There was a sudden knock at the door. Severus looked at her, alarmed. She was shivering, and her eyes were closed. "Were you expecting visitors?"

"Only you," she said, her voice barely audible.

The knocking increased. "Shall I answer it?"

She said nothing. He got up and went out into the office, opening the door that led out into the corner, and coming face to face with a highly shocked Minerva in the process.

"Severus?" she said, astonished.

"What astute powers of observation you have," he sneered.

"I am here to speak to Sarah," she answered, her back ramrod-straight.

"That certainly explains your presence at her door," he answered.

She strode past him into Sarah's office. "Where is she?" she demanded.

"In her room," he answered. Minerva strode to the door and knocked on it loudly. There was no reply.

"What is she doing?" wondered Minerva aloud. Then her eyes narrowed and she looked at Severus. "I don't know what is going on here, but I would like to speak with her. _Now_."

There was still some portion of him that responded to her like a guilty student whenever she was displeased. He nearly grimaced. "Wait here." He went into Sarah's private rooms and closed the door behind him. "Sarah..." Her eyes were locked shut and she was gripping the blankets so hard that her knuckles were white. "Minerva is here to see you...she doesn't seem inclined to leave." There was no answer. "Sarah."

Her eyes shot open, pale and full of pain. "Out."

He felt oddly affronted. "What?"

"Out. I...will join you..." She coughed weakly. She must want to dress first, but at first he didn't understand why she wanted him to leave. He _had_ seen her nude before, and there had been his glimpse earlier in the week...but still. He needed to give her some privacy. He reluctantly stepped back into her office.

"Well?" said Minerva impatiently.

"She will be out in a few moments," he replied. He sat down on the arm of the chair, trying to distract his mind with the minutiae of halving the potion. He had no reason to stay, other than he needed to speak with her about applying the potion next weekend, and his presence would irritate Minerva further.

Several minutes passed by, and he smiled secretly to himself as he watched the Transfigurations professor becoming more and more annoyed, until the door opened, and Sarah stood there, her blank face back in place, wearing a wrinkled, loose-fitting robe. "What is it you require?"

Minerva looked at her for a moment, and Severus watched the wheels turning. "Sarah, next weekend is a Hogsmeade event. I am certain that you recall from your own time here what it means to the students. However, it has come to my attention recently that some of the teachers will be away on that day. Due to...security considerations we always take three instructors as chaperones, and at this point only two are available. Now, I realise that you are new to our staff, and that you haven't really been asked to contribute yet..." Sarah did not react, her face like an expressionless mask. "Er, we were...that is I was expecting that you would attend as the third chaperone."

"I am unable to," said Sarah simply.

Minerva stared at her. "Unable...to?"

"Yes. Will that be all?"

Minerva seemed at a loss for words for a moment. "You are very lucky to be here, Miss Tanner," she said. "Very lucky. And now you are being given a chance to give back, to show your appreciation to Albus—"

"I am lucky to be here," said Sarah dispassionately. "But I am telling you that I cannot contribute in this manner. And the Headmaster already knows how appreciative I am."

"It's only one afternoon," said Minerva doggedly.

Severus said in a low voice, "I'm certain that there is someone else who would be willing to go as chaperone. Certainly Sarah cannot be the only choice."

Minerva shot them both a glare. "For your information, Severus, I have asked nearly everyone. I do not wish to cancel the outing simply because a _part-time_ instructor is involved in...extracurricular activities on Saturdays!"

"You have no idea what is going on here," he said.

"I think I have a fairly good notion," she said, looking at him disapprovingly.

"Severus is researching a potion," interrupted Sarah. "I am helping. If you have any other concerns, feel free to engage the Headmaster. Good day to you both." She closed the door behind her.

Minerva gave him one last angry look before she left.

He took a calming breath and tried to force calm back into his system. Looking around, he realised that he had left his cauldron and his notes in her room. He went to the door and raised his hand to knock, but thought better of it. She needed to rest, and he really had no need to rehash the potion tonight. He stalked off, irrationally hoping that he would find a student that he could take points from.


	31. Recovery

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Severus calmly ignored Aurora during breakfast. And lunch, for that matter. She was behaving foolishly, he felt. After all, if she knew the real reason that he was visiting Sarah she probably would have retched.

Thank Merlin the Headmaster sat on his other side, or he would have gotten an eyeful from Minerva as well. The students were rambunctious as ever, especially because it was a weekend day. He scowled at some of the noisier ones.

He really did need to collect his cauldron and his notes from Sarah's room. As much as he needed to mark a week's worth of assignments, he still wanted to revisit the latest experiment while it was fresh in his mind.

"How did your research go yesterday?" asked Aurora brightly.

He turned and sneered. "I'm sure you'd like to know."

"Of course," she replied, trying not to laugh. "I wouldn't have asked otherwise."

"It's private research and none of your affair." He turned back to his plate.

She did laugh at that, though she had the good sense to do it quietly. Pomona was giggling as well. His scowl deepened. Hexing them, unfortunately, was likely to be frowned upon by the Headmaster, so he had to make do with stalking out of the Great Hall after fixing them both with a particularly evil glare.

Sarah's door opened before he even knocked, and he entered her office. It was untouched. The door to her private room was closed, and he knocked softly. Her voice rose up from within. "Come in."

Entering, he noticed her sitting on the bed. The windows were open, and cool September air filled the room.

"I assume that you are here to retrieve your things."

"Yes," he said. The cauldron with its multihued mess still sat on the nightstand, and next to it his notes and samples. He evaporated the last of the potion and shrank the rest of his items, putting it all in a pocket of his robe. "About the next application..." She looked up at him, and he was struck by how emotionless her face was at that moment. She could have been a doll, like one of those animated horrors Crabbe preferred. He nearly shivered. "There is a staff meeting on Friday, and I will be...unavailable on Saturday. Sunday?"

She considered it for a moment. "That might not give me enough time to recover."

"Perhaps...I could suggest something to help," he offered. Her expression did not change. "Fond as you are of your Strengthening Solution, there are other ways to deal with pain."

"You needn't concern yourself with my recovery."

"I will when it impinges upon my research. I would like to finish this process as soon as possible, as it is taking up a good deal of my time," he said, with a touch of acid.

"Certainly you must know that Strengthening Solution is not a pain reliever. Perhaps I have other methods already."

"I doubt that highly, considering your expression during the application process," he said dryly.

She fixed him with her blank, cold eyes. "I have, in fact, managed sixteen years without your help, and doubtless would have managed quite well in the future as well. You are presuming that you can help me. You are presuming that you know all of the parameters of my condition, and that you alone know the best method of treatment and pain relief. You are presuming a great deal."

Though her words were spoken in a flat tone, he could feel the anger rising within him. "Of course I know 'the parameters of your condition'," he spat. "I _created_ your condition. I am the one who found the original potion and modified it to become the horrible piece of work that it became. I am in the unenviable position of knowing exactly what it is that arrests the healing process and how it accomplishes that. I understand all too well the pain levels involved, the resistance to traditional Healing spells—"

"But you have not lived with it," she said simply.

"No," he said angrily. "I have not, but I have seen countless suffer with it. I have researched it exhaustively." He forced his voice to grow quiet. "I am offering you a way to recuperate quickly, to take the edge off the pain. You cannot possibly be opposed to this."

"I have told you before that I have experimented with every potion possible..." she began.

"But not my potions."

"You do not seem to understand," she said dispassionately. "I took some of the strongest pain-relieving potions ever created. I took many of them for years. Their...effectiveness has been greatly reduced because of this."

He stopped. It had been known to happen. Many of the pain potions shared a common base, and eventually, after tremendous usage, they would be rendered ineffectual for that individual. "Merlin..."

"If you can apply the solution on Sunday morning, then I will concede."

"Sunday morning..." No, it was not possible. There was no way to know how long the Death Eater meeting would last. There was no way for him to brew it through the night unless he resorted to several gallons of Pepper-Up Potion. "I cannot," he said.

"Then we will have to skip a week. Good day, Severus."

He left, unsettled. She had been completely emotionless in her conversation with him again. Despite the words she had chosen she had been flat in her speech. And yet...at other times...she did seem as if there was something else there, some spark. His observant Slytherin nature carefully turned the puzzle over in his head. She had seemed most remote and distant after the applications of the potion. And she had implied that she might have some alternate form of analgesic. Was she using some pain relief with a mood-altering side effect?

Silas was standing at the entrance to his classroom. Severus nearly snarled. "What do you want?"

"I was hoping to have a chat with you," said the ginger-haired man innocently. "In private..."

Severus opened the door to his classroom and shut it behind them, looking at Silas expectantly.

"Don't you ever offer your guests a drink? Someplace to sit?" said Silas, peeved.

"I don't have guests," said Severus in his coolest tone possible.

Silas looked around at the dreary classroom. "I can see why."

"Do you have a purpose in speaking to me that does not involve my lack of hospitality or the perceived ambiance of my classroom?" His voice was soft, but he could not hide the steel in it.

"Straight to the point, eh, Severus?" He grinned.

"If you don't mind..."

"It has come to my attention that you have disregarded my warnings, unsubtle as they were, about helping this so-called Professor of Talismans." He wandered farther into the classroom, absently rubbing at a spot on one of the desks. "You needn't ask my source, I won't reveal them."

"And?"

"And you must understand that you are getting into some very hot water. The Ministry would be very interested to know of two teachers with ties to the Dark Arts here at Hogwarts. And they would be even more interested to find out that these two are seeing each other privately..."

"There is no proof that anyone here at Hogwarts has ties to the Dark Arts," growled Severus. "They would have been sacked soon enough."

"But these individuals are cunning," said Silas. "I've been hearing things about you for years, my boy. Things that would curdle milk. And your friends...a veritable roster of Dark Arts wizards."

"I need not defend myself or my friends to you," said Severus. "You like to chase shadows...you play at being an Auror." He riveted the annoying man with his best glare. "You are nothing but a sad little man who has always wished for your life to be more interesting than it is. Go back to your office and entertain yourself with your Dark Detectors. I have nothing further to say to you."

"Really?" said Silas, bemused. "Have you forgotten our little bargain so easily? A slip of my tongue, and the Aurors will know whose poisons they found at Burgin and Borkes..."

"Ah, but those poisons were lost..." Severus smiled in a menacing way. "Or didn't you hear? It was in the Daily Prophet a few days ago."

"What?" said Silas, suddenly off-balance.

"I fear that there is no way now of proving who actually created any of them," said Severus, thoroughly enjoying this. There were considerable perks to being the friend of Lucius Malfoy, after all. "They would have only your word, and I'm not certain that it would be enough to legitimately sentence anyone." He crossed his arms. "After all, you are not an Auror yourself, and your information is third-hand at best..."

Silas narrowed his eyes. "Apparently I underestimated you...and your friends." He stepped closer. "It is not my own aggrandisement, or fame, that drives me," he said. "It is only concern for the children. It is wrong—and morally reprehensible—for a Death Eater and a Dark Arts witch to teach students here at Hogwarts. Durmstrang, certainly, but not here. And I will not rest until I have scoured this place of you and your Dark little paramour."

"You are casting dangerous aspersions," said Severus softly. "Your slanderous tongue is quite out of line."

"I speak only the truth," said Silas stubbornly. "And I will take my concerns to the Headmaster."

"See that you do," said Severus coolly. "I will be most interested to hear his opinion on the subject."

Silas looked at him again, his blue eyes full of righteous determination, and strode out of his office with conviction.

_Merlin_, Severus seethed. Yet another problem. For a brief second he wished that Sarah Tanner had never come back to Hogwarts, even though she could mean some small piece of redemption to him.


	32. Conference at Myrtle's

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Sarah carefully turned the talisman over in her hand. The creation was done well, but the student had erred in the purposing stage. An A for Miss Brown, who spent far too much time giggling with Miss Patil. Sarah noticed that the Granger girl was watching her clandestinely, no doubt wondering if her amulet was being marked yet. No doubt it would be O-level work. 

It was Thursday already. Another evening meeting for Mr. Potter's organisation...the DA, as they called themselves. The spells they had practiced at all of their gatherings so far seemed to be Defence Against the Dark Arts spells, and she had to admit that Silas was correct. It did seem quite odd that she was monitoring it. But her timetable was fairly free, and, the day after she had been asked by Mr. Potter to be their chaperone, she had received an owl from Dumbledore in which he had intimated to her in a roundabout way that it would be very helpful if she would host the group.

She resisted the urge to yawn. The weekend had been a blur of pain and Painstone usage, and only today did she feel like she had regained her balance. A flash of motion caught her eye, and she looked up just in time to avoid a Stunning Spell that had erroneously been sent in her direction. It struck the chalkboard behind her with a resounding crack. She winced.

"Sorry," said the Weasley boy sheepishly. The students' attention went back to their little group, practicing their Shield Charm in pairs, and Sarah absently repaired the chalkboard. She watched for a moment.

"Mr. Potter," she said, gesturing to the black-haired teenager. He obediently came closer. "I don't mean to pry...but have you taught any other types of spells?"

He looked confused, but also a bit wary. "What do you mean?"

"You seem to be teaching a lot of...well, offensive and defensive spells. Have you ever thought of teaching medical spells? Healing spells? They might come in handy," she said. "I'm not fully certain what your organisation is for, but from what I've seen it sounds like...well, an Auror programme, to be honest. And they often have to do things of a medical nature in the field, from what I gather."

He looked interested, until another Stunning Spell whizzed past them. "Ron..." he said, walking towards his friend. "You need to aim a little more to the left..."

Aurors. He had not argued with her. So the teen wanted to create his own little set of Dark Wizard catchers. Well, no one could accuse him of lacking courage. She knew firsthand what Dark Wizards were like, and from what she had heard from the Headmaster, so did he.

Her back was paining her, but she had definitely noticed a difference after the last application. Severus's potion was working. Where other Potions Masters had failed, he had succeeded...though he did have the advantage, as he had created the original solution. A pity that they would have to skip this week, but she could not reasonably recover well enough to teach that quickly. Besides, after sixteen years, she was not going to lament over another seven days' delay.

She looked down at the next talisman. Another misapplied purposing. Of course, as it was Miss Patil's. She marked it with an A.

Hermione was helping Harry and Ron float the last few desks into place. "I've heard something interesting about her," she said quietly to them, nodding towards Professor Tanner, "from Ginny."

"And Fred and George owled me," said Ron. "They have news."

"Tomorrow," said Harry. "We need to catch up...Myrtle?" The other two nodded.

"It's almost as if we have to have separate DA meetings just for us," said Hermione.

"Like a Department of DA Administration," said Ron.

"There isn't much choice, though," said Hermione. "We can't trust her just yet, and the common room has too many people in it lately to have a private conversation."

"Good thing we have Myrtle to scare everyone off," pointed out Ron.

* * *

Harry wished for the hundredth time that the bell signalling the end of Potions class would ring. Snape was in a terrible mood, leaning over everyone as they worked, pointing out the tiniest mistake, and lashing out with nasty criticism over every detail. He was in rare form, and Harry had noticed that Neville's absence in class meant that much more negative attention thrown the way of the remaining Gryffindors. Snape had even made disparaging remarks about Hermione's solution, even though it looked absolutely perfect. It was wearing on Harry's nerves. He wanted no more trouble, however, especially after the detention that he had served earlier that week with Snape, so he kept a tight rein on his anger. 

Finally they were free to go to lunch, and he sighed in relief. His potion, while not as textbook-perfect as Hermione's, was still better than average, and he felt it deserved an E. He had nearly forgotten about meeting at Myrtle's bathroom until Hermione had nudged him and whispered a reminder.

He shovelled in lunch as quickly as possible, but Hermione refused to let them go at once. "Too suspicious," she said. They waited until the rest of the students had dispersed to their afternoon classes before taking off towards the second floor.

"Tanner wasn't at lunch," remarked Ron. "Wonder where she gets to? And what did Dumbledore say, mate?"

"He said that as long as we had a teacher chaperoning us we can continue to have the DA meetings as long as we want," answered Harry, feeling a little giddy.

"What about Marten? Can he just go and wander in whenever he feels like?"

"Dumbledore said that as it was Tanner's classroom, she can decide who to allow or not allow in."

Ron thought about that for a moment. "I hope she decides to let him gripe in the corridor!"

They were nearly there, and Hermione was full of nervous energy. Obviously she couldn't wait to tell her news. "You won't believe it..." She opened the door, and cast an Anti-Eavesdropping Charm on it after they had entered Myrtle's bathroom. "Ginny saw Snape—aaaaaah!" She yelled in shock.

"What?" asked Ron. Both of the boys turned to look.

_The Chamber of Secrets was open._

They all looked at each other. "Who...could have opened it?" said Hermione, looking pale. "There aren't any other Parselmouths here at Hogwarts...The only other one that I know of is..."

Ron swallowed audibly. "I thought they closed it for good!"

There was a noise, then, a kind of scraping, muffled clanging, and they all drew out their wands. "This can't be," Hermione kept saying.

The sound was growing louder. Harry licked his lips nervously. He had killed the Basilisk, really he had. There was no way that it could come back. And it just couldn't be Voldemort. That was impossible. He stared at the hole behind the tap.

"We need a mirror," said Hermione suddenly. "Oh—if all of us get petrified no one will be able to get help—Ron, you'll have to go get McGonagall—"

"And whatever would you need a mirror for?" asked Professor Tanner tiredly as she emerged from the pipe. "Much less McGonagall...I doubt she'd be happy that you interrupted her class to let her know that a fearsome Talismans instructor was prowling a defunct bathroom." She looked awful. She was filthy, and some dark substance matted the lower portion of her robes.

"Professor Tanner!" said Ron and Hermione at the same time, shocked.

"At least your identification skills are still in good order."

"What are you doing here?" asked Harry curiously. He put his wand away. Ron and Hermione followed suit, though Hermione did so with noticeable reluctance.

"What is it you are doing here yourselves?" she asked.

"Er..." Ron turned red. "We were just..."

"Ah, it is none of my business," she said with a touch of slyness. She was attempting to wipe her hand off on her robes, but as her robes were even filthier than her hands, it was a losing battle. "The same applies to you."

"Wait," said Hermione, looking suspicious. "If Salazar Slytherin was a Sanguimagus, and he created the Chamber of Secrets..."

There was a faint smile on Tanner's lips. "Certainly you have lived up to your reputation as a brilliant witch."

"But I thought there was nothing left down there," said Hermione.

Tanner looked at her with an inscrutable expression. "Perhaps. Perhaps not."

Hermione looked rebellious.

"Do not forget that I could just cast a Memory Charm on you and be done with it," said Tanner evenly. "You must trust me that whatever it is that I found—or did not find—will be reported to the Headmaster."

"There's blood all over your robes," said Harry.

"Yes," she said reluctantly. She turned and levitated a round piece of wood out of the pipe. It floated across the room to the door of one of the stalls, which had a large round piece missing from it. A white light flared around the edge, and the door was whole again. _She must have used it as a platform and levitated it through the pipes while standing on it_, Harry thought. _That explains how she got back up to the entrance_.

"That's Basilisk blood," said Harry, who remembered vividly what it looked like.

"Yes."

"There's another one down there?" said Ron, horrified.

"Until very recently." There was an odd expression on her face.

"You're not petrified," said Hermione curiously. "Did you use some sort of special amulet?"

Tanner looked at them levelly. "This is to remain between us, correct?" They all nodded. "It was a very young Basilisk. Killing it was not difficult. I daresay that even Mr. Crabbe would have dispatched it with ease."

"Either there were two of them to begin with or..." Hermione had a thoughtful expression on her face.

Tanner wiped her face with the back of a dirty hand, apparently not realizing that she was leaving a large smudge on one cheek. "There is powerful blood magic at work here. The Basilisk will continually be reborn until the last Heir of Slytherin is no more."

"Reborn?" asked Hermione. "Oh, I see...if the creature accidentally perished for some reason...the Heir would have another to take its place..."

"Yes. Now go, I must close this."

"I can do that for you," said Harry. He concentrated carefully, imagining a snake. "Close," he ordered in Parseltongue. Obediently, the sink slid back into place, covering the large pipe.

"Impressive," she said. "I've never heard Parseltongue spoken before...but I am afraid that what I meant was that I must _seal_ the opening. I cannot risk anyone else wandering in...or out. The magic there is too powerful to contain for long...another Basilisk will be born there soon."

"Oh," said Harry. "But there are other exits...the lake..."

"I've taken care of those," she said simply. "This is the last one."

"How are you going to seal it?" asked Hermione.

"You know perfectly well the answer to that question," said Tanner, who looked exhausted. "Enough. Leave before I take House points away."

They walked away reluctantly. Harry saw a flash of silver in her hand as they closed the door behind them.


	33. What is Going On?

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

"There's a passageway on the fourth floor that we could use," whispered Harry as they left Myrtle's bathroom.

"Let's go," said Hermione determinedly.

The mirror slid aside to let them enter. Hermione cast an Anti-Eavesdropping Charm after the mirror glided back into place so that no one could accidentally overhear their conversation.

Ron looked pale. "Who would've thought there'd be another monster down there? One wasn't enough?"

"That's if Tanner is telling the truth," said Hermione.

"But she had Basilisk blood all over her robes," said Harry. "Besides, why would she lie about it?"

"If she is working for Voldemort, then she'd have every reason to want a Basilisk to be down there, so that he could return to the school at some future point and control it," said Hermione impatiently.

"Then why'd she kill it?" asked Ron.

"We don't know that she killed it. Perhaps she was drawing some of the Basilisk's power," mused Hermione. "She's a blood witch. She might have needed its blood for some spell. And she sealed the entrance...remember what she said? So that no one could get in, or out."

"Look, I think that's rubbish," said Ron. "You're just upset because she made you promise not to research something."

Hermione turned pink. "That's not true—"

"Look, the bell is going to ring soon for dinner," said Harry. "The whole reason we went to Myrtle's bathroom was to hear what you both had to say."

Hermione nodded. "You're right. Ginny saw Snape taking a cauldron down Tanner's corridor."

"That's your news?" asked Ron in disbelief. "That's what you were so chuffed about?"

Hermione looked distinctly angry. "It's _very_ interesting, and if your brain wasn't so full of Quidditch manoeuvres you'd see how important it is—"

Trying to defuse the situation, Harry cut in. "Why is it important, Hermione?"

"He's delivering a potion to Tanner!" she said exasperatedly. "That's who he was brewing that potion for...the really complicated one! We need to find out what it's for."

"Did Ginny see Snape give it to Tanner?" asked Harry.

"Well—no, actually."

"How do we know it was for Tanner? It could have been for Firenze," he added.

"Look, it makes sense," she said. "Both of them are into the Dark Arts..."

"You think they're plotting together?" asked Harry. "Why?"

"I don't know yet," she said. "Maybe Snape is trying to draw her out so that he can expose her and turn her in...I want to get a sample of that potion."

"You're going to get us expelled!" said Ron, horrified.

"I don't think that's a good idea," said Harry uneasily. "Snape would be all too happy to see us thrown out...and Tanner...she seems fairly no-nonsense as well."

There was silence for a moment. "Ron, what were you saying about Fred and George?" said Hermione, changing the subject abruptly.

"Er...they joined the Order, and Mum gave them both a good rollicking for that...They say things are starting to happen, little things...no Dark Marks in the air or anything like that yet, but they say it's coming. And they're in touch with everyone who's left Hogwarts...you know...DA people. They're ready for a meeting over Christmas break."

"Sounds great," said Harry.

Ron checked his watch. "Let's get to dinner." Hermione ended the Anti-Eavesdropping Charm and they emerged from the passageway.

* * *

Severus had little appetite. Tomorrow's business weighed heavily on him. Even Aurora left him alone, knowing better than to attempt conversation when he was in this sort of mood.

Knowing there was a staff meeting that night did not improve his mood. Honestly, he'd rather sleep than listen to another Silas monologue. He gave up on his meal and instead took another sip of wine and stared out into the Great Hall.

He watched as Nott's son approached the Head Table and, surprisingly enough, went to speak with Filius. Severus wanted to cast the eavesdropping spell, but Aurora was watching him out of the corner of her eye, so he decided against it. Nott returned to his seat, to an open look of curiosity from Draco. Now that was interesting.

Ah, the Slytherins he watched over...they never stopped surprising him. He smirked. Little snakes, all of them.

* * *

As they left the Great Hall and moved into the entrance hall, Hermione nudged Harry. He looked in the same direction she was and noticed Malfoy huddled with Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott. Nott seemed to be arguing with Malfoy about something. Harry shrugged.

"I wonder what they're up to," said Hermione.

"Something rotten," said Ron grimly.

* * *

"Now, I know that you're eager to retire for the evening," said Minerva, "but there are still two more orders of business to discuss. First of all, the Headmaster will be absent for most of the day tomorrow, away on business at the Ministry."

Severus wasn't paying the strictest attention. As a matter of fact his mind was drifting off somewhere investigating the addition of Re'em blood to Strengthening Solution...but Minerva's words brought him soundly back to the staff meeting. _The Headmaster will be gone tomorrow_. A seed of worry began to grow in his thoughts. If there was some pressing news, some urgent matter brooked at the Death Eater meeting, he might not be able to reach the Headmaster. The Ministry had very serious magical controls surrounding it, after all. It was also worrisome that they were understaffed for tomorrow. Nearly everyone had some prior engagement that would take them away from the school.

"My last point of business," said Minerva crisply, "is to thank Filius for voluntarily cancelling his Charms presentation in London to stay and escort the children to Hogsmeade tomorrow. It was very generous of him, and we are in his debt. It is heartwarming to see a professor help out in a time of need." She shot Sarah a meaningful glance. "Silas, as this is your first trip to Hogsmeade, I would like to speak with you before you leave. There are some regular tricks the children try to play on the chaperones...Oh, and I must mention that we are already planning the Halloween Feast. If you have something special to contribute, then please contact Pomona or myself. Thank you for attending."

The teachers stood up and began to leave. Severus watched as Sarah stood up slowly. He knew that a few of the others were watching clandestinely. No doubt the rumors were flying around Hogwarts. He grimaced and strode out of the staffroom.

There were students everywhere, roaming the halls, excitedly whispering to each other and making plans for the Hogsmeade visit tomorrow. His grimace turned into a scowl.


	34. Gathering for the Dark Mark

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.Breakfast. Sarah did not even bother putting porridge on her plate and instead sipped some water from her goblet. Minerva and Filius were missing, as well as most of the other teachers. Silas and Severus sat in their accustomed places, as well as Aurora, who seemed to be eating in a hurry.

* * *

Sarah took another sip. The students were excited. It was the very first Hogsmeade visit for this group of third years, and the noise in the Great Hall was louder than usual. _Merlin help the chaperones_, she thought.

Minerva came storming into the Great Hall looking extremely displeased. This was apparently Aurora's cue to disappear, because the Astronomy professor took one look at the angry Headmistress and left hastily.

Sarah's eye was drawn to Severus, who looked nearly...thoughtful this morning, and she wondered at his expression. He stared into space, his black eyes unfocused, until Minerva walked past his chair, which seemed to rouse him from his reverie. He stood up, put down his napkin, and followed Aurora's lead.

"Sarah," said Minerva icily as she sat down next to her. "Filius has become ill this morning."

_Oh Merlin._

"He won't be able to chaperone today's trip," she continued. "As Deputy Headmistress, I am requiring you to accompany us."

Sarah stared at her, at a loss for words. "I—no, I cannot..."

"You will," said Minerva crisply. "These students have enough things to contend with in their lives...they deserve a spot of happiness here and there. It would only take a few hours out of your _busy timetable_."

"I can't leave Hogwarts," said Sarah faintly.

"Rubbish," said Minerva. "You seem to think yourself in some sort of danger, but that is ridiculous. Both Silas and myself will be on this expedition and I assure you that the most perilous situation we'll face will involve Exploding Snap."

She couldn't appeal to the Headmaster, as he was gone. Severus would be of no use in the matter as well. She had very little choice. She did not think it wise to refuse an open order from the head of staff. "If I must go..." she said, feeling distinctly ill.

"You must," said Minerva firmly. "I will expect you at the doors in an hour."

Sarah stood stiffly and began the painful walk back to her rooms. _Merlin, it can't get worse than this_, she thought. The long walk to Hogsmeade...the potential for problems...

She sat down on her bed and began to think. She could not possibly bring the Painstone with her. It might attract undue attention. But she could not simply leave it all day in her room. It was far too nefarious an object to leave out in the open. Even with properly guarded doors...

* * *

Severus stirred the Dreamless Sleep Potion and checked it absently. Brewing some of the simpler potions was usually a way to ease his mind; it was calming to go through the motions, to occupy his hands with mixing and mincing. It wasn't working this time. He was too agitated. The Dark Lord had not bestowed the Dark Mark upon anyone since his rebirth, and Severus was not looking forward to the ritual. It would be bloody and Dark. He frowned. No doubt they had already tracked down a few victims to 'help' in the festivities.

It was nearly time. He began to bottle the potion efficiently, wondering when exactly the Dark Mark would signal him. His Death Eater mask and cloak were reduced and waiting in the pocket of his travelling cloak, along with the usual vials and flasks that he always brought with him. He wondered what he would be asked for this time. Veritaserum...the Draught of Agony...Blistering Potion...he could not leave anything behind the Dark Lord might require.

He might as well make his way towards the Forbidden Forest. The first and second years milled about the castle, but he was preoccupied, and didn't bother docking House points. He passed by Hagrid's empty hut, wondering where the half-giant had gotten to once again.

Abruptly the Dark Mark began to burn, and he gasped out loud, clutching at it with his right hand. He was nearly at a point he could Apparate from...just a little further. He put on his mask and cloak clumsily.

The momentary shock of Apparition faded and he found himself in front of a familiar manor, the site of some earlier meetings. It reminded him of the Cruciatus Curse that he had endured in the front drawing room, the smell of mouldering carpet coming back to him in a sudden sharp way. He shivered involuntarily.

He entered and made his way towards the back. Nearly everyone was there already, and no one was wearing a mask. He stripped his off immediately. They were in what was once presumably a ballroom of sorts, but had decayed considerably. The floor, once elegant marble, was filthy beyond belief. The other Death Eaters had assembled in a semicircle, and he could see Lucius across the room, who nodded at him. The Dark Lord sat on a throne at the far end. Severus came forward and performed his obsequience at the Dark Lord's feet, kissing the hem of his robe. He felt the red eyes upon him, though he dared not look up.

"Ah, Severus," came the high, frightening voice. It was nothing like the old, charming voice the creature had once possessed. "I am certain you will find today's gathering quite enjoyable..."

He was suddenly chilled to the bone. It was not a good thing to be singled out. "You are most gracious, my Lord," he said quietly. He backed away and joined Lucius.

Another few Death Eaters entered the hall and paid their respect to the Dark Lord.

"You were very nearly late," said Lucius disapprovingly.

"I have something of a walk," said Severus.

"As do I." He sipped from a goblet.

"Crabbe and Goyle...Macnair..." Severus looked around.

"They will be here shortly." The blonde man smiled, and Severus suddenly felt cold.

"The novitiate?"

"Marcus Flint," said Lucius casually.

Severus was deep in thought. Yes, of course he knew Flint, but that was no reason for the Dark Lord to hint that he would 'enjoy' today...

"It is time," said the Dark Lord. All of the Death Eaters put on their masks. Marcus Flint entered the room, his usual brutish look replaced with one of barely controlled terror. Severus almost felt sorry for him. Almost, except that he knew Flint had come here of his own will, and was seeking entrance to an organisation that he believed would grant him some measure of power. He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering his own Marking. There would be the transference. The blood. All of the ritualistic requirements fulfiled. Severus knew that soon he would be hearing Flint scream.


	35. A Trip to Hogsmeade

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

"I've lost it!" said Ron, frustrated. 

"What?" asked Hermione. Only a few first years were left in the common room, as nearly everyone else waited at the front doors to leave for Hogsmeade.

"My money," he moaned. "Mum gave me a few sickles and I can't find them."

"I can lend you some," said Harry. "C'mon, we're going to be late."

"I don't want your money, I want mine!" he said heatedly.

"Ron, let Harry lend you the money!" said Hermione exasperatedly. "When you find yours, you can pay him back."

Ron finally agreed—reluctantly—and they took off for the doors. Harry led the way, using a shortcut, and they were out of breath by the time they got outside. The bulk of the students were already walking towards Hogsmeade, led by the unmistakable figure of Professor Marten. McGonagall saw them and nodded, walking away quickly.

"Professor Tanner," said Ron. "You're chaperoning?"

"Yes," said Tanner, wearing her usual nondescript grey robes. She was walking faster than they had ever seen her walk, but it was slow nonetheless. She was pale.

"We'll walk with you," said Harry, feeling sorry for her. Hadn't Flitwick been meant to chaperone?

"That is unnecessary," she said.

"We don't mind," said Harry.

"Very well," she said wearily.

"I wonder if Zonko's will let me in," worried Ron.

"Why wouldn't they?" asked Harry.

"Because of Fred and George. They might think I'm a spy."

"I'd like to buy different coloured inks," said Hermione, "to help finish my new timetable." Ron rolled his eyes.

Harry was happy that the day was so beautiful. The sky was pale blue and he wondered absently what it would be like to fly through the few clouds on his broom today. _Probably too cold for that, _he thought sadly.

The walk to Hogsmeade was not a long one. They passed the lake, its surface calm and gleaming. _The squid must be visiting the merpeople,_ he thought. The station was ahead of them, and Harry listened idly as Ron insisted that a class on Quidditch wouldn't be a waste of time. The other students were far, far ahead—nearly to Hogsmeade.

Harry thought he saw a sudden movement. Someone shouted "_Stupefy_!" and there was a brilliant burst of red light exploding around him as he fell, swallowed into darkness.

* * *

Harry felt the world slowly returning to him. There was a breeze...a few whispers of sound...his mouth was dry. His stomach roiled painfully. 

He opened his eyes, and found blue ones returning his gaze.

"Ah, Harry," said Dumbledore warmly. "Here, drink this."

Harry drank from the proffered goblet. The liquid was cool and tasted like ginger, and he felt his stomachache lessening.

"Now, I know that you're wondering what has happened." Dumbledore placed the empty goblet on a table next to the bed.

Harry looked around, and realised that he was in the Infirmary. Ron was in the next bed, watching him with frightened eyes, and Poppy was leaning over Hermione in the next...

"Is she—" He nearly jumped out of bed.

"She will be fine, no doubt, thanks to Poppy's excellent skills." Dumbledore paused. "What is the last thing that you remember, Harry?"

"Someone cast a Stunning Spell," said Harry. "And I fell...it hurt."

"Anything else?" prompted Dumbledore. Harry shook his head, which made him feel a little dizzy. The Headmaster turned to Ron. "Then I must ask you to finish the tale."

Ron was pale. "I...don't really know," he said haltingly. "It happened fast."

"Harry was stunned, and then..."

Ron swallowed nervously. "These men came out of nowhere...they were dressed in Death Eater robes. One was laughing about the bonus of nicking Harry Potter as well as the blood witch..."

"Really?" asked Dumbledore. "What did they say next?"

"Tanner...er, Professor Tanner said something to them...I don't remember what. And then they attacked her. She used a Shielding Spell and shouted to us to take Harry and run. Hermione..." Ron stopped and took a deep breath. "One of them was casting a spell on Harry...she blocked it. He got mad and hexed her." He looked angry for a moment as well. "I knocked him off his feet with the Disarming Curse."

"What was Professor Tanner doing?" asked Dumbledore calmly.

Ron thought for a moment. "I think she was dueling with them...I heard spells...but then it got quiet. I looked up and Professor Tanner was standing very close to them. She didn't have her wand. She shouted at me to keep my wand trained on them. They were pointing their wands at her. She said, 'Now, or the deal's off.' I heard Professor McGonagall and Professor Marten shouting and I turned to look. When I looked back the Death Eaters and Professor Tanner were gone...I think they used a Portkey."

"Really," said Dumbledore. He seemed puzzled.

"They've taken Professor Tanner?" asked Harry. "Why?"

Dumbledore turned to Harry. "I am not certain," he said gravely. "I do have a few ideas, however..."

"Will she be all right?" He knew the answer already. No one could last under Voldemort's gaze for long. He remembered that high, maniacal voice saying "Kill the spare" and shivered.

"She is a clever witch," answered Dumbledore. "A true Ravenclaw. If anyone is able to get out that situation, it would be her."

"But...isn't the Order...aren't you going to help her?"

Dumbledore regarding him with his piercing blue eyes. "Much as I would like to send everyone to her aid, I cannot. There are very real limits to our resources. Voldemort is gaining in strength, and a full attack at this moment would do nothing but hurt the Order, perhaps beyond repair. Rest assured that I will do what I can, Harry." He stood up. "Thank you for your helpful recollections," he said to Ron, and then left.

"They sent the Order to save me when we were at the Ministry," said Harry. "But they won't send it after her..." _But then again, I have a prophecy to fulfil_...

Ron only frowned, watching as Madam Pomfrey tended to Hermione.

* * *

The ritual was playing out to its inevitable end, and Severus wished once more that he was back in the dungeons, in the peaceful cool of his rooms. 

Flint sobbed pathetically at the Dark Lord's feet, and he hadn't even received the Mark yet. Lucius watched, a bored expression playing across his elegant features. The tell-tale flush of inebriation showed on his pale face.

Severus watched as the Dark Lord contemptuously stared down at Flint from his throne. "What could you possibly be worth to me?" said the high, frightening voice. "You are a pathetic fool, snivelling like that...you are mocking me." Severus winced. Even now he hated the word _snivel_.

"No, never..." gasped the hapless novitiate.

"Do you really think that you can stand next to my Death Eaters as an _equal_?" spat the Dark Lord.

"I...I..."

"_Crucio_!" His red eyes gleamed dangerously. "You are nothing but a worm...a tiny, helpless worm...you are of no use to me." Flint writhed on the ground.


	36. A Death Eater Meeting

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Severus drew out two vials from his travelling potions case. "Drink these," he commanded, handing them one at a time to Flint, who gratefully accepted them with trembling hands. Barely a man, yet tonight he had been Marked, just as Severus had been marked so many years ago. He could feel it on his arm, the Dark energy pulsating. Within moments Flint looked a little better; his colour had returned, and the trembling had died down, though in accordance with the Dark Lord's wishes the pain from the fresh Mark was not diminished.

The other Death Eaters were raising their glasses and celebrating the newest among them, and Severus helped Flint stand up. They shook his hand, welcoming him into the fold, each one praising him for taking the Mark so bravely. Their masks were off now.

Severus shrank his potions case and placed it in one of his pockets. Lucius handed him a glass, and he took it, gulping down the burning liquid quickly. He wished fervently to be anywhere but here.

The noise diminished suddenly, and the Death Eaters looked back to the throne where their master sat. The Dark Lord was smiling, his inhuman features frightening. "Ah, and now the entertainment," he said.

Entertainment? Severus felt his heart grow heavy. The part he dreaded. Carefully he drained himself of emotion, becoming empty and still. He tried not to look at Flint's face, fevered and brutish again. He did not want to think of himself, and what he had looked like after the Mark had been magically burned onto his arm.

"We have Macnair to thank for this interlude," said the Dark Lord. "Macnair...will you find Crabbe and Goyle and tell them to bring their guest?" Macnair nodded and left the hall. The red eyes scanned the Death Eaters, finally coming to rest on Severus and Lucius.

Severus could not see who was being brought in, but he noticed Bellatrix looking at Rodolphus with a confused expression. Several of the others were similarly bewildered. They had formed into a ring again, and Crabbe and Goyle were pulling a lone figure forward and depositing it in front of the Dark Lord.

Severus froze. For a long moment he could not breathe. _No_.

The figure was Sarah, her wrists bound tightly in front of her, her hands frozen in some painful looking way. Her robes were torn and bloodied and she was shaking. How—why—

"Ah, the blood witch," said the Dark Lord in satisfaction. "You escaped Macnair in Poland, and cleverly...but I found you nonetheless, despite that old fool." He smiled. "So much trouble for one girl..." His long, white fingers stroked the arm of the throne absently. "But you are well worth it. Shall I tell them about you? They wonder what makes you special...why I should be interested in you." She did not answer. "You still bear the marks of the Lingering Wounds Potion...marks that Lucius cut into your skin, and Severus transformed..." Severus glanced at Lucius. He was enthralled, his grey eyes riveted on her. "What they did not know was that they were indirectly creating a weapon...a beautiful stone, a Painstone."

Severus's blood roared in his ears as it all suddenly snapped together. _I am a cursed fool_. She was a Sanguimagus. He wanted to scream. Only his tight control kept him silent. His mind raced. Things fell into place. The anonymous tip that he had brushed off as ridiculous, was, in fact, the truth. The Dark artefact Silas had referred to was, in fact, a Painstone. _Oh, Merlin, the horrid git was actually right about something_. He felt nauseated. She was a Sanguimagus. No wonder she hadn't needed any pain potions. No wonder she had been so cold, so logical after the applications. _I am a cursed, ignorant fool_.

"This Painstone...perhaps the most powerful ever created..." His red eyes were fixed on Sarah. "Sixteen years of unrelenting pain, stored in a gem. A perfect weapon for a Dark Wizard. A lovely thing." Still she said nothing. "Don't be shy, little blood witch. Even you must know that these things are seldom created. You should feel honoured to hold the only active Painstone that exists. The others that I have chanced upon were...quite useless, really." He settled more comfortably on his throne. "After all, it only works for the creator...or the creator, controlled by some other force..."

"My Lord," said Macnair nervously. "Crabbe and Goyle have been unable to find the Painstone..."

The Dark Lord turned slowly to look at him. "She must have it with her...fools. Incompetent fools." He turned back to her. "Shall we see where you are hiding this object?" He smiled, and it was chilling. He leaned forward. There was silence for a moment. She tried to look away, but he waved his hand and she was forced to look at him again.

Severus realised he was holding his breath. He had discussed endlessly with Dumbledore this very situation...and now it was here. He could not save her. He could not risk destroying his cover. It was their only direct link to the Dark Lord, and he could do nothing to compromise it. The Order was counting on him. Thank Merlin she knew nothing that could endanger the Order.

"Where is the Painstone?" the Dark Lord demanded.

"At Hogwarts," she said. Her voice was so quiet he could barely make out her words.

"Where in Hogwarts?"

"I don't know," she said.

He seemed taken aback. "What did you do with it?" he asked dangerously.

"The Castle has hidden it for me," she said. "It will give it to me, and me alone."

"I see," said the Dark Lord thoughtfully. "Then we will simply have to convince you to ask for it. _Crucio_!"

* * *

Sarah knew pain intimately. It did not mean that she was immune to it. The Cruciatus Curse enveloped her, blinding her, immersing her in liquid flame. It was as if she was being bathed in broken glass. The agony continued, undiminished, harsh sensations battering her. Her everyday pain was nothing compared to this terrible, stabbing torture.

It stopped, and she lay on the ground, her breathing ragged. She must have fallen over. Her hands were still frozen in the binding spell, and her options were nearly exhausted. She tasted blood in her mouth.

"The other Death Eaters are curious," the Dark Lord said, watching her intently. "They want to know who you are." He leaned back in his throne. "My faithful...I give to you Sarah Tanner. Daughter of that fool in the Ministry...yes, that very one. She had the terrible luck to run into Lucius, Severus, and Macnair many years ago...they used her for some private sport, and left her for dead." He looked past her yet again. "Perhaps a _reenactment_ would help allay their confusion..." He beckoned with long, white fingers to someone behind her.

Her blood ran cold. Terror, so long unfamiliar, crept into her very bones. She tried to think of something, anything, to help her, but her hands were held fast by the spell. Without them she could not use blood. Without her wand she could not cast anything. She looked up into the completely unexpected face of Severus Snape.

"You!" she snarled. Anger filled her. "Liar! Deceiver!"

He looked down at her, his face a cold mask of indifference. "A tiresome creature," he murmured.

Then she looked past him, and she could not speak. Her throat locked. The room seemed to spin. Lucius Malfoy was standing there, a chilling smile on his face. He shoved her onto her stomach with his foot.

A word, and the robes across her back ripped open. "Beautiful," said Lucius, his voice full of awe. "Your potion...it is magnificent, Severus."

"Pity it can't be reproduced." Severus's voice, calm, controlled. The same voice that had convinced her to let him help her. The same voice that had conversed with the Headmaster over meals in the Great Hall. The same voice that had, at one moment recently, defended her against Minerva. _I will not think of him. I will not think of his betrayal. I must remain focused_.

"Look...they still bleed as if it was done today." Lucius's voice was near her ear. He ran one hand lightly up her marred skin, and she trembled. "Every cut..." His fingernail began to dig into one of the wounds. "This is a masterpiece." He pushed in farther and she stifled a gasp. From her odd vantage point, she could see that the Death Eaters had come in closer to look. "Watch..." He spoke another word, a word that her body remembered only too well, and heard the sickening noise as the Slicing Charm cut into her back anew. "You see, they look the same...only this one will heal. The rest will not...due to the Lingering Wounds Potion. Such a marvelous creation..." _If only I could move my hands_...

"She's a blood witch?" asked someone dubiously.

"Apparently so," came Lucius's voice. "A reenactment...yes. That would be lovely." He began to rip her robes expertly. "But it seems someone has already done the first part...Crabbe? Goyle? Bored, were you?" She closed her eyes, trying to forget the beating. "She's already black and blue...pity."

"I'm ready for the next part," drawled Macnair. There was laughter.

"If I recall correctly, I was first," Lucius said. Her heart banged against her ribs. He could not mean to have her again. This could not be happening; it was a nightmare. Her mind would not concentrate. "But in the interest of recreating history, she isn't in the right position..." The snake-like cords around her wrists fell away, and she felt his hot hand on the back of her neck pulling her up, forcing her on her knees. "You do remember this, don't you?" he whispered into her ear. He shoved her face into the muck on the floor as Macnair laughed. The binding spell still held her hands twisted into claws. "Have you heard of the Imperius Curse?" he said. "I am quite the master at it. You and I will take a stroll in Hogwarts..." His hand drifted down her back. "I've learned so much since I took you last. Uses for the Slicing Charm that are quite...motivational. I just hope that I don't get carried away..."

There was a sudden pressure on her hand, someone's boot, inexorably grinding it into the marble. The pain increased until she heard a snapping sound. She gasped.

"You'll get your turn, Macnair," said Lucius irritably. "Don't distract her."

The boot was removed. She pulled her arms in weakly.

_The binding spell was broken._

Her fingers seemed charged with electricity. She tried to keep her breathing even. She had to stay perfectly still. _Think_. There were too many of them, too close. There were no blood spells that would give her enough of a chance. _I have no choice, then_.

This had to be timed perfectly. Carefully, slowly, she moved her left forearm closer to her right hand.

"So lovely," breathed Lucius.

Her sleeve was in the way. She needed to get her fingers underneath.

"Bet you're wishing that you'd had a go last time," said Macnair.

"She is of no interest to me," responded Severus, his voice cruel and cold. "Then or now." Someone snickered.

The other Death Eaters murmured among themselves. Lucius's hands were on her hips, digging.

Her fingertips closed over the warm head of the nail.

_Thank Merlin._

Another moment. She had to be certain which one it was.

She pulled it out.

At first nothing happened. The bloody nail was clutched in her hand. She heard the Dark Lord say something in his high, frightening voice.

Suddenly there was a tremendous red flash. It was so strong that it leaked through her eyelids, nearly blinding her for a moment. There was a terrific burst of energy, and Lucius's hands were no longer upon her. She heard the sound of bodies hitting the floor.

She opened her eyes, and straightened up. The air was cold upon her, and she tried to shake off the pain.

The Death Eaters lay on the ground in various unnatural positions. She wanted to cry in relief. But she had to leave _now_. Using her good hand she leveraged herself into a standing position. She stumbled. Her feet felt like they were asleep.

"Little witch," said the Dark Lord, slurring his words, pulling himself up.

She looked in horror. He stood up and raised his wand. "What I had planned for you is nothing compared to what I am going to do to you now..."

_If you do not get away now you will be his slave forever._ Her heart spasmed. She pulled out the second nail. _No choice_. She could see his lips moving. The nail began to glow. The fiery burst was upon her almost before she could react. He was nearly done with the spell—she could see the movement of his wand—

The incredible heat of the dark red flame was upon her—

The nail travelled in a high arc, and the cloud of flame went with it, striking his white body on the chest. He screamed horribly and fell, writhing.

Her eyes were tearing up. The right side of her face was scorched. She could feel the flesh of her shoulder blistering and cracking.

She pulled Lucius's cloak off and draped it clumsily over her shoulders, wincing. The Dark Lord was shrieking on the floor. Her wand and knife were in Macnair's robe and she retrieved them. She could feel her feet now, but moving them was difficult. One of the Death Eaters was stirring. "_Stupefy_," she hissed, and red light flashed from her wand, a tiny encore of the first nail's tremendous spell. She made her way to the high windows at the edge of the faded ballroom and escaped, tripping on the edge of the cloak and falling to the ground. The night air was cold and she stood up shakily, pulling the garment tighter. She could hear someone shouting and glass breaking. A jet of red light just missed her and she breathed in relief. Whatever came next did not matter, because she was finally free of the Disapparition ward on the manor. She thought of the Forbidden Forest and Apparated. There was a loud crack, and suddenly she was up to her knees in a slimy pool of water.

Everything was quiet and still, and she wished she had the Painstone with her. She winced at the agony of her shoulder. _I must get back to the castle_.


	37. Aftermath

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

The Death Eater meeting had descended into pure chaos. Severus tried to tune out the arguing and shouting of the others as he knelt next to the still-writhing Dark Lord. It had taken considerable effort to put out the dark red flames. Lucius was attempting to take control of the situation, but was being thwarted by a near-crazed Bellatrix, who insisted upon laying siege to Hogwarts. Severus looked up from the hideously burnt flesh of his master at Peter Pettigrew, who was fretting.

"Will he be all right?" asked Peter.

"Yes," answered Severus curtly. Based on the Dark Lord's grave condition, he had only one choice.

Lucius had disentangled himself from Bellatrix's rabid ire and leaned over Severus.

"What will you give him?" said Peter.

"The Salus Potion is the only option," said Severus.

Lucius gasped. "He is that badly injured?"

"What is the Salus Potion?" asked Peter.

"It's a very strong healing potion," answered Lucius in a worried tone.

Severus withdrew the glimmering vial from his travelling potions case. As he did his fingers brushed against another vial, containing one of the strongest poisons he had ever brewed. Tempting, but it would never work. The Headmaster had warned him against it years ago. The Dark Lord could not be killed in any usual way. _No, we must wait for Saint Potter_, he sneered to himself.

He pulled out the cork in a practiced fashion. "Help me incline him," he ordered Peter, who timidly obeyed. Severus's skin crawled to be so near the Dark Lord. He tipped the vial into the cruel mouth, drawing out his wand and relaxing the throat so that it would be swallowed.

Within moments the Dark Lord's scorched form began to restore itself, the white flesh reappearing, the damaged skin sloughing off. Lucius murmured something appreciative under his breath. Severus was wary, however.

"Why isn't it healing all of the damage?" asked Peter quietly.

"It is meant for humans," frowned Severus. "I may have to modify it...his physical makeup contains serpentine qualities now..."

The Dark Lord's opened his eyes. "What...has happened..."

"The blood witch used some trickery," said Lucius angrily. "Look." He held out a small, bloody nail. "She had these in her arm. Removing them triggered a mass Stunning Spell."

"Clever," said the Dark Lord. His red eyes focused on Severus. "What potion...did you use?"

"The Salus Potion, my Lord," said Severus, trying to stay calm. "But it does not appear to have healed you fully."

"No...I can still feel...the damage," came the creature's reply. "The flame she conjured..."

"I must return to the lab and brew a second variation," said Severus. "I will return as fast as I am able."

"Yesss..." hissed the Dark Lord. "Lucius?"

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Scour the Forbidden Forest. She can't have gotten far..."

"Yes, immediately, my Lord." Lucius straightened up and left, giving orders to some of the other Death Eaters to accompany him.

Severus swiftly stowed his potions case and strode out of the hall. He pulled his travelling cloak on and within moments he was out of the manor. It was dark and cold out. He Apparated to the Forbidden Forest as soon as he was able.

He was quite familiar with the woods. Many of the ingredients for his potions were only available in the wild, after all. He began to walk, attempting to organise his thoughts into a cohesive report for the Headmaster.

There was so much to report. They'd have to call an Order meeting. Azkaban was nearly emptied, and someone was apparently suppressing _the Daily Prophet_ because nothing had been printed about the matter. The Dementors were gone. The Dark Lord was accepting initiates into the Death Eaters again, and Marcus Flint was the first to respond to the call.

How long before other Slytherins joined? How long before he would have to be doubly on guard, with Death Eaters in his classes and at meetings...

Someone coughed. He whirled around, trying to pinpoint the source. One of the others, no doubt...He moved cautiously. Another cough. He took a step.

A brilliant flash of red light arced past him, striking the ground erratically.

"Sarah?" he said.

"Traitor," she gasped. "Stay away..." She raised her wand again, but only sparks came out.

If he brought her back to the Dark Lord, he'd be rewarded richly. It could go a long way towards dispelling any doubts that might have lingered...No. He could not. What little it might buy him would not be worth her enslavement. Plus it would deliver the Painstone directly into the creature's hand.

"I told you...stay away..." She coughed again.

"Just listen to me," he said softly. "I'm not here to take you back."

"Liar."

"There is too much to explain here. Let me help you to the castle."

"Go away."

"Don't be daft. I'll help you..."

"You'll take me back to...Lucius."

He took a deep breath. At any moment one of his fellow Death Eaters could find them. "I won't. We need to hurry...they're looking for you."

"_You're_ looking for me too."

"I'm not looking for you," he said coldly. "I need to fetch something from my office."

Abruptly she fell to her knees. He took a few more steps towards her. She looked terrible. "Don't," she said weakly.

"I will take you to the castle," he said firmly. "I will accept your apology when we are inside."

She looked up at him, an odd expression on her face. "My _apology_?"

"Yes," he said. "We need to go. Now." He took her arm and tried to pull her to her feet. She was shaking. "Can you walk?" he said, concerned.

"No," she said. "I can...go alone." She coughed again.

Anger rose in him. "Don't be stupid." He murmured a spell, conjuring a stretcher.

Her eyes rolled back into her head, and he barely caught her, nearly wrenching his back. He swore. "_Mobilicorpus_," he said through clenched teeth. Her body floated up obediently and he deposited her on the stretcher. He looked closer. She looked terribly pale, but he did not have the time to rifle through his potions. He would leave that to Poppy.

He noticed that she had stolen a Death Eater cloak. From the elegant satin lining he guessed it was Lucius's, which reminded him that he had to return. Quickly.

He had to get to Hogwarts, and he had to avoid the other Death Eaters prowling the Forest. He racked his brain for his best concealment spells.


	38. The Hospital Wing

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Severus carefully guided the stretcher into the entrance hall. He let the door swing shut behind him, and looked up to see Minerva anxiously awaiting him.

"Is she all right?" asked the Transfiguration professor, looking down at Sarah.

"She will be after I get her to Poppy," he said evenly.

"I didn't think it would cause such trouble for her to chaperone the children," said Minerva, shaking her head.

Severus narrowed his eyes. "I thought Filius and Silas were accompanying you."

"Filius was struck with a sudden illness this morning. I asked Sarah to substitute for him."

There had been something with Nott's son...he had approached Filius the night before. Severus frowned.

"It's fortunate that you were able to bring her back," said Minerva. "What...happened to her?"

"She was unlucky enough to be abducted by Death Eaters. What do you _think_ happened to her?" asked Severus acidly.

Minerva suddenly looked angry. "Her troubles stem from her own poor choices in life. If she hadn't followed the Dark Arts—"

"You knew she was a Sanguimagus," he said, surprised.

"Yes," she said. "She should never have been brought here. I warned Albus. She should not be teaching children."

"I don't have time for this," he said brusquely. "Whether or not you approve of her residence here, she needs medical attention, and I need to get her to the Infirmary and then make my report—"

"I will take her to the Infirmary," she interrupted. "Give Albus your report now. He's not sleeping well as it is, and the earlier you speak to him the better."

Severus looked at her for a long moment. "Very well," he said.

She left the hall, the stretcher following her obediently.

* * *

Lucius was waiting for him in the manor's foyer. "He is waiting for you. Follow me."

Severus nodded. They went upstairs, past dilapidated tapestries, rotting furniture, and many closed doors to a spacious room. Upon entering, Severus noticed that only Peter and Macnair were in attendance.

"You had Harry Potter in your grasp and you brought that pathetic little witch to me instead?" roared the Dark Lord. His red eyes blazed. Blood oozed from unhealed burns. "She is trivial...He is everything!"

"I'm sorry, so sorry, my Lord," cringed Macnair, his face pressed to the floor.

"My Lord, Severus is here with the next dose," interrupted Lucius quietly.

The Dark Lord turned toward them. "At least one of my faithful can follow orders..."

"She had blood on her hands," sniffed Macnair. "She said she were going to melt the flesh off our bones if we tried to take Harry..."

"A bluff. And a ridiculous one at that. If she really had that talent, do you think she would have voluntarily accompanied you? Useless, all of you. Severus, the potion..."

Severus dutifully handed him the vial after it was uncorked. The creature drank it all in one gulp, tossing aside the container carelessly. The effects were immediate. The healing draught was strong, and with the delicate alterations Severus had just performed, it was able to adapt itself to the Dark Lord's reptilian nature.

"My Lord," said Severus hesitatingly. The creature turned to him. "Minerva brought in the girl as I was leaving. Filch was nearby...I could not attempt to cast a Memory Charm upon her."

The Dark Lord flexed his abnormally long fingers experimentally. "That will be all, Severus."

Severus bowed and left, glad that he was not Macnair at that moment. His unfortunate screams followed Severus down the hallway.

* * *

Hogwarts was silent, and Severus was utterly exhausted. The events of the evening had been draining, and it was very late. He only wanted to crawl into bed.

He was nearly at his door when he remembered Sarah. He felt a flicker of guilt for a moment, thinking of Lucius's hand on her neck, the pain she'd been subjected to. He paused. He _really_ wanted to sleep.

"Blast," he muttered, whirling around and taking the stairs back up to the entrance hall.

The Hospital Wing, surprisingly enough, was still well lit. Poppy hadn't gone to bed yet. He was even more surprised to see her tending to the Granger girl, who looked truly awful. She was pale, and every one of her veins stood out black against the rest of her skin. Next to her lay Potter and the Weasley boy, soundly asleep.

"What happened?" he asked.

Poppy turned, looking at him with bleary eyes. "They were attacked by Death Eaters on their way to Hogwarts," she said. "An outrage...to attack children like that..."

He realised that the rest of the Infirmary was empty. "Poppy...wasn't Sarah brought here as well?"

"Why, yes," she replied, trying to cover a yawn. "I healed her internal injuries...but she told me not to bother with anything else, she'd take care of the rest herself."

"You let her leave? Without being fully healed?" He was astonished.

"She said she had her own healing potions," answered Poppy. "And I have my hands full."

He was furious. "There is no reason for her to have walked out half-healed. You are a fully competent Mediwitch with one of the best collections of healing solutions—for Merlin's sake, I know you have a bottle of Salus Potion, I inventoried it myself last month! You—"

"I have one bottle, and one bottle only," she said sharply. "It should be saved for an emergency."

He was speechless for a moment. "You're saving it for _Potter_, aren't you," he said softly.

"How dare you." Her cheeks were flushed. "For your information, Severus, her condition was certainly severe at first, but it was not grave enough for me to administer a Salus Potion. Her remaining injuries can be taken care of with a few basic potions."

"You'd never let one of the students leave your ward without being fully healed."

"She left _of her own free will_. She insisted upon it, in fact," said Poppy, frowning at him.

Being around Sarah must have made Poppy uncomfortable. And Sarah had been wearing a Death Eater's cloak, which could not have helped. "Where did she go?" he demanded.

"I assume that she returned to her rooms," said Poppy brusquely. "Now if you'll excuse me, I really must return to Miss Granger's healing."

He descended the stairs seething. All thoughts of sleep fled. He swept into the hallway that led to her rooms. The door to her office opened immediately for him. A good sign...she had not reset the wards. Perhaps she wouldn't attempt to hex him the moment he entered. "Sarah?"

There was no answer. He closed the door behind him.

She was huddled on the couch, still wrapped in Lucius's cloak, looking very pale. Bruises stood out in livid relief on her neck and jaw.

"Sarah?"

Her eyes opened slowly. "What..."

He came closer. "And here I thought I'd find you fully healed after you'd gone through your extensive potion stores." He looked down at her. "Do you even _have_ anything besides Strengthening Solution?"

She blinked. "The drawer..." she said hoarsely, pointing towards her desk. He walked around and pulled it open. Empty. He pulled the next one open. Three bottles rolled around inside it. One was the Strengthening Solution she'd been using. There was something labeled "Auntie Dodd's Famous Burn Relief" and a half-full bottle of Murtlap Essence. He looked at them with a practiced eye. Rubbish, both of them.

"Those are useless," he said irritably, pulling out his potions case. He took off his travelling cloak and threw it across her desk.

"What are you..." She coughed.

"I'm going to finish Poppy's job," he said, sneering at her. He drew out a few vials, inspecting them carefully.

"Where...did you put..." She swallowed painfully. "I need...the Burn Relief..."

"Burn Relief?" he asked, surprised. "Why would you need that?"

She was actually beginning to look angry, and he was impressed, considering that she used a Painstone regularly. "I don't need...your help."

"Let me be the judge of that," he said. He leaned in and took hold of the edge of Lucius's cloak, pulling it aside. He wanted to heal the slice on her back, if possible, and take care of some of the bruising. Plus it seemed that her throat was inflamed. He could see bruises in the shape of finger marks arrayed across the skin of her neck. One side of her face had apparently encountered some sort of odd hex, because it looked red.

He nearly dropped the vials in shock. Her upper arm and shoulder were badly burned. The skin was blistered and looked painful. "Merlin..." he breathed. "This..."

"The second nail," she said, coughing again. "A magical flame, connected to the nail...I held it a moment too long."

He went back to his potions case and drew out a different vial. The burns were not too deep; a topical application would take care of them. He Transfigured the couch, making it wider so that he could sit down next to her. "The spellwork on the two nails was quite advanced...it must have taken quite some time to develop..."

She looked at him suspiciously. "I don't trust you. I've told you to leave already. I will be speaking to the Headmaster..."

"See that you do," he said casually. "After all, he is the one who sent me back to the Death Eaters."

"What?" She gave him a confused look.

"I'm a spy for an organisation that's actively working against the Dark Lord," he said. "I can't tell you any more...but you deserve to know that, at least."

"A spy," she said, still looking at him warily.

"Yes," he said simply. "The Headmaster will tell you the same."

"Oh." She closed her eyes and winced.

Yet again it was only the word of Dumbledore that brought down the walls of mistrust. He unstoppered the burn solution. "Now will you let me treat you?" he asked.

She reopened her eyes. "If you feel you must," she said quietly.

He poured out a small amount of the liquid onto his fingertips. The worst section was on her shoulder, and he began to gently massage the solution into her scorched flesh. She gasped when the cold potion touched her. He poured out more, letting his hand glide over her skin, not allowing too much pressure, until he was satisfied that he had covered most of the affected area. He ran his hand over her one last time, his sensitive fingers searching for any warm patches that had been missed. She looked drowsy.

"You've burned your face as well," he said, looking at her closely.

She blinked. "It wasn't easy to aim at him," she mumbled.

"Be still for a moment..." A few more drops on his fingers, and he was lightly tracing the slight burn on her cheek, watching as the skin absorbed the potion and returned to health. Her ear was red as well, and he delicately applied more, the cooling sensation replacing the heat. Her eyes were shut. She looked exhausted.

He leaned back. Her robe was ripped and bloodied. And wet from the knees down. He frowned. "You need to remove your robe."

She rubbed her eyes and attempted to sit up. He reached out and pulled her up. She swung her legs past him and put her feet on the floor. Slowly she stood up, swaying a little, and then took a step forward, and then another.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm going to bed," she said wearily.

He picked up his potions case and followed her into her bedroom. She slowly removed the ruined robe, dropping it to the floor, and then sat down on the bed and kicked off her sodden boots. She looked at her socks and grimaced. He bent down and stripped off the offending garments. "Thank you," she murmured.

Without her robe he could see the damage. She was black and blue, and the old wounds had bled out all down her back. She looked thin, and broken. He felt odd for a moment. Pushing the feeling aside, he helped her bring her feet up onto the bed and get comfortable. He spelled the blood off her back as gently as possible, carefully placing one of the large pieces of white fabric that she used to staunch the bleeding. He set to work removing the worst of the bruises. She hissed in pain as he probed a particularly nasty one on her ribs.

Her left hand was deeply bruised as well, and he recalled Macnair's boot. Poppy had fixed the broken bones; he worked the solution into the battered flesh of her hand deftly. He noticed her forearm. Two bleeding puncture wounds sat next to one black nail head. He touched the remaining nail lightly, wondering what spell the last contained.

Suddenly she shouted something unintelligible, grabbing his arm and shoving him bodily away from her. Overbalanced, he slipped off the bed and collided with the floor. "What—"

"_What do you think you are doing_?" she yelled. "Are you _mad_?!"

"I was just—"

"Don't touch it!" She was drawing in great gulps of air. "You saw what the other two accomplished—you—how could you be so reckless?"

"I..." He stood up, his back smarting. "Enough. You are correct, it was reckless."

She relaxed, but her pale stare continued to regard him uncertainly. He stood up again and sat back down on the bed slowly. He reached out and took her hand once more, double-checking the potion's absorption. The bruise was nearly gone. He applied a minute amount and the last of it vanished. Satisfied, he looked over her ribs again. Definitely too thin. The fault of her reliance upon Strengthening Solution, no doubt. He rubbed more solution into the bruising. For several minutes he concentrated on removing bruises from her arm and neck, until she relaxed nearly imperceptibly. He looked up to see that she had fallen asleep, her face losing its pinched quality and softening.

He stared at her for a moment or two, his thoughts aimlessly turning. Shaking his head, he drew out another vial and uncorked it, estimating that he had just enough potion to finish treating her.


	39. Dumbledore's Announcement

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Sarah dreamt.

_Severus stands before her. Not the Severus of her past, his face filled with youthful hauteur; this is the Severus she knows now, older, his black eyes filled with some emotion she can't identify._

"_You must," he says. "I am ready...I know what I am...I cannot be forgiven..." He seems suffused with some inner agony. His arms are outstretched, as if he was waiting for something._

_She looks past him, and he is forgotten in an instant._

_Lucius Malfoy stands there. Her heart leaps in her chest. Something uncontrollable within her takes hold. "I vowed to kill you," she says angrily._

_He laughs. "Really? You don't like my gift?" He twirls his wand lazily._

_Her pockets are empty. There is only one option left. She pulls up her left sleeve._

_Her fingertips find nothing but smooth flesh. She looks down, and to her horror finds her forearm unblemished. No nail. No wand. No knife._

_A green flash explodes around her..._

She woke with an inarticulate cry. Panting, she covered her face with her hands, trying to regain some calm. Her heart thudded much too quickly in her chest. Pain blossomed in her back.

She opened her eyes and dropped her hands. The room was ablaze with light. It was nearly the middle of the day, and she was quite alone.

She thought of last night's ordeal. The Dark Lord. Lucius. Macnair.

Severus.

He had been there, in her room, helping her. He had brought her to the castle, as he said he would. But he had been _there_ as well, watching coldly as Lucius slammed her face into the floor. Was he really a spy? If he wasn't, she was certainly in trouble...

Her mind was still foggy, but one thing was clear. She must speak to the Headmaster.

* * *

Harry woke up, and for a moment he was confused. There was no canopy; he wasn't in his bed. He was in the Hospital Wing.

He put on his glasses and sat up. Ron was snoring away in the bed next to his. Hermione was in the next bed over, and Madam Pomfrey sat in a chair nearby, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "I see you're awake, Harry," she said.

"Hermione...is she..."

Ron's snoring abruptly ceased. "Hmm? What?" He blinked owlishly.

"Hermione will be fine," said Pomfrey calmly. "But she will need to stay here today so that I can keep an eye on her."

"What happened to her?" asked Harry.

"A nasty hex," said Madam Pomfrey. "But you both should return to your dormitory and try to make it to the Great Hall for breakfast. I daresay that the Headmaster will have an announcement to make." She began fussing over Hermione again.

The Great Hall was strangely subdued. Many of the students whispered to each other furtively when they arrived. Ron and Harry sat down next to Ginny. "Where's Hermione?" she asked.

"She's still in the Hospital Wing," said Ron.

"Is she okay?"

"Yeah, but Pomfrey is making her stay there today," said Ron, frowning. He looked unhappy.

"Are you all right?" asked Neville worriedly to them both.

"We're fine," said Harry, attempting a smile. He noticed that Snape and Tanner were both absent, and felt mildly alarmed.

Dumbledore stood up, and the Hall fell silent. "Many of you witnessed an attack yesterday," he began. "A teacher was abducted, and students were hexed." There was a murmur at this. Some of the first years looked frightened. "I am happy to inform you that the teacher has returned, and the students in question are fine. However, in light of this incident, I feel it necessary to cancel all future Hogsmeade visits for now." He sat down again, and Professor McGonagall leaned in to say something in his ear.

"What happened?" asked Ginny.

"We'll tell you the whole story at the next meeting," said Harry to Ginny and Neville.

* * *

There was a pounding in his skull that defied description. Severus groaned and sat up.

The light filtering in from the high window meant that it was day, nearly midday if he had guessed correctly. He rubbed his eyes. His mouth was parched, and his joints were stiff.

He looked down and realised that he was still in his robes. Last night he'd been too tired to change. Even now he still felt worn out from last night's harrowing events; sleep had been uneasy, at best.

Starting the morning with a large tumbler of firewhiskey wasn't really the best way to begin the day, but considering that it was nearly noon he didn't think it mattered as much. He changed into a fresh set of robes.

The Great Hall seemed rather quiet for once, which was fine with him, really. He sat down in his accustomed seat between Aurora and the Headmaster.

"Good day, Severus," said Aurora.

He nodded brusquely to her.

"The Headmaster has cancelled Hogsmeade visits," said Pomona.

He was in the process of putting bacon on his plate, but he stopped. "Cancelled?"

"Too dangerous," said Aurora. "After yesterday..."

"Ah," he said. "Yes, quite right."

"Severus," said Dumbledore, "I would like to see you in my office after lunch, if possible."

"Certainly, Headmaster," answered Severus.

Sarah entered the hall, looking determined but pale, and began to walk towards the staff table, though she seemed a little taken aback when most of the students turned to stare at her. After she sat down she glanced across the table, and his eyes met hers for a moment. Her expression was difficult to decipher.

"Is she all right?" asked Aurora.

"Yes," he said, tearing his attention away from her.

"Poppy said she was a mess."

"As well you would be after an encounter with the Dark Lord," he snapped.

Aurora rolled her eyes and turned back towards Pomona.

* * *

Severus rubbed his eyes tiredly. He had been in the Headmaster's office for nearly a half hour, rehashing the evening's meeting and subsequent events, and his back pained him. He suddenly realised that the Headmaster had stopped talking and looked up.

Bright blue eyes looked into his own. "I've kept you long enough. I don't doubt you're tired after the weekend's events."

"I'm fine, Headmaster," he said, sitting up straighter and dropping his hands to his side.

"There is one last piece of business I would like to bring up before you go," said Dumbledore. He took a sip of tea.

"Business?" asked Severus.

"I have been speaking with Remus, and he agrees that we are too few in number. We need to gather new members into the Order."

Severus frowned uncontrollably. Black and Potter were gone now, but Lupin still remained, ensconced in that awful house, dispensing advice alongside adolescent butterbeer. "And does Lupin have any ideas?" he asked, trying to keep the bitterness out of his tone.

"Actually, I have an idea," said Dumbledore calmly. "Silas Marten."

Time actually seemed to freeze for a moment. Severus nearly choked on his rage. "Silas _Marten_?!" he spat.

"Yes," answered Dumbledore. "I feel he would be an asset to the Order. He has extensive knowledge of Defence Against the Dark Arts, as he has been teaching it for nearly four decades. He is relatively talented with a wand, he helped in the fight against Grindelwald, and he is a close friend of Alastor Moody."

Severus leapt out of his seat. "He is—he is a conniving, pompous wretch—" he spluttered.

"Please, Severus, calm down," said Dumbledore. Severus resumed his seat, quaking with anger. "Silas may be a bit...overzealous at times, but he has the children's best interests at heart, and he is firmly on our side."

"He—he tried to blackmail me!"

Dumbledore sighed. "There is still a chance that he will not be accepted. Remus has suggested that we allow the potential members a chance to present their case, and let the Order vote."

Severus tried to calm himself, but it wasn't working. _One insufferable git for another_, he seethed. "Are you suggesting that we _show_ them the location of our headquarters, interview them, and if they are not accepted, let them leave?" he said incredulously.

"It isn't the way we've operated before, I know," said Dumbledore, "but Remus makes a good case. We cannot recruit as we did last time. And if someone isn't accepted, then we will perform a Memory Charm—"

"Memory Charms can be broken," said Severus softly. "Or have you forgotten Bertha Jorkins?"

"Enough," said Dumbledore, and there was a touch of anger in his voice. "We cannot risk operating as we always have. Peter has, no doubt, informed Voldemort of our every move in the past fight against him." Severus winced. "Now we must concentrate on the future. The next meeting will be Saturday afternoon, and I will ask Silas to join us then."

Saturday afternoon. "Very well." He could not keep the bitterness from his voice. Silas Marten, a member of the Order. It was inconceivable.

"I must ask you to put aside your dislike of the fellow and view him objectively, Severus," said Dumbledore. "He would be an excellent asset to the Order, of that I have no doubt." He smiled sadly at him. "Good day, Severus."

"Good day, Headmaster," he said quietly.

The door swung open silently, and he paused at the top of the gargoyle staircase. So Silas Marten was to be the next Order member. He scowled. Yet again, a Gryffindor threatened Severus, but was not punished...no, he was rewarded for his actions by an invitation to the Order. Only his Slytherin friends had, once again, cared enough to protect him from Auror persecution.

He did not want to imagine the insufferable prat as an Order member. Silas would be in his element at meetings, pontificating...

He only hoped that enough of the other members would see him for what he was. He had little hope of that, though, especially now that he knew of Silas's friendship with Moody.


	40. A Frank Conversation

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Severus descended the stairs in a whirl of black robes, still thoroughly annoyed at the idea of Silas Marten joining the Order. As the gargoyle finally made its last turn he impatiently pushed forward and nearly flattened Sarah, who was attempting to enter.

"Excuse me," she said, walking slowly past him to the stairs. The gargoyle swung shut behind her, and he paused. There was something different about her.

Her eyes. She had looked at him for only a moment, but it had been long enough. As a Potions master he had a keenly developed sense of colour, and though the difference was quite subtle, he could still see it.

The Strengthening Solution. Her addiction was progressing.

What to do? He could barge in and confront her in front of the Headmaster. Then again, Dumbledore probably already knew. Or he could wait for her. No doubt she was verifying his story at that very moment. Not that he blamed her; it was a rather suspicious situation, and it did look quite convincingly that he was still a loyal Death Eater, though his allegiance should have been obvious to her the moment he took her to the castle instead of back to the Dark Lord.

He did not have to wait for long. She emerged from the staircase looking tired.

"I would like to speak with you," he said, trying to keep his tone neutral.

"Very well," she said, waiting.

"In private," he added.

"Ah." She paused for a moment. "Perhaps tomorrow—"

"Now." He fixed her with a harsh look.

If there was any emotion on her face at all, it was mild puzzlement. "Why?"

"Because," he said, trying to hold his temper in check, "there are things to discuss."

"If you insist."

"I do," he said, turning and walking off, suppressing the urge to look over his shoulder to be certain that she was following. He waited in the Entrance Hall as she navigated both flights of stairs, and, turning, began down the stairs to the dungeons.

He heard her behind him, her steps faltering and pained.

He went into his office and closed the door after she entered, gesturing towards a chair. "I would prefer to stand," she said.

He sat down behind his desk. "I will get straight to the point. Your eyes have changed colour." She looked around, presumably for a mirror. "You won't be able to tell...suffice it to say that it is very subtle, but it is there." He sneered at her. "So now you really are addicted to that blasted potion. Still think you can handle it on your own? When the Ministry is alerted to this, you'll be out for certain."

She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she reopened them, she was as implacable as ever. "I am not addicted," she said.

"You are close enough that there is little difference," he said coldly. "It will be obvious soon enough. Give me the last of that solution. I will destroy it for you."

"No," she said. "There is very little left...I need it."

"To make the withdrawal more bearable."

"Yes."

"Tell me," he said menacingly, "why you would take such a dangerous, habit-forming potion in the first place? You must have a very good reason to risk your sanity and your health. I can't believe that you would throw them away lightly."

She looked as if she was weighing options in her head. Carefully she sat down in the chair, wincing. "Why should I tell you?" she asked him.

"If information about your condition was leaked to the Daily Prophet...or to the Ministry...it would be a disaster. I can't allow you to bring further harm to Hogwarts or the Headmaster. They are already investigating us. Both of us." He looked at her closely, noting the barest tremor in her left hand. "For Merlin's sake, stop being so damnably stubborn. You know what would happen if Silas found out about your potion habit. And I've been seen interacting with you so often that he would drag me into it as well...he would probably accuse me of being your supplier."

She looked at him warily. "Has he...threatened you?"

"Yes," he said. It could not hurt to be truthful, though most likely Silas's amateurish efforts would end with his induction into the Order. "I have known...another in a similar situation. I can help."

She seemed to consider it for a moment. "I'm not certain why you want to help me," she said.

He stared at her in disbelief. "You still don't trust me?"

She looked at him evenly. "It is a matter of survival. I rely upon myself. If I can't get myself out of a situation..."

"What?" he said irritably. "What is _this_ nonsense?" He leaned forward. "You've already taken advantage of the Headmaster's offer of sanctuary. Obviously you _can't _rely entirely upon yourself."

She looked away. "What is it you want in return?" she said quietly.

"In return?" he asked, surprised. "You can't be serious. If I help you I can possibly avoid further suspicion...not to mention that the withdrawal symptoms are unpleasant and I would rather not have to explain to the students why their professor is lying on the floor vomiting black bile."

"Yes, there is that," she said thoughtfully.

"Where did you pick up this little habit?" he asked, wondering if she would answer.

"It is a necessity when..." She looked at him and frowned slightly. "Since you know what I am, I suppose it won't make much of a difference." She paused, as if composing her thoughts. "A Sanguimagus uses blood. I had to create something recently that required a moderate amount, and I only had myself as a source. It was enough of a loss that I couldn't hope to function afterwards. Hence the Strengthening Solution."

"Why didn't you just take a Blood-Replenishing Potion?" he asked, confused.

"Of course you would say that, with an entire lab full of ingredients, and the ability to brew whatever you want, when you want."

"I'm quite certain Poppy has a supply on hand as well."

"Yes, and I can imagine that conversation. _You need what? Because you're doing what?"_ She looked even more tired. "There is no logical reason to request that particular potion. She might have even guessed that I'm a blood witch."

"Poppy is a Mediwitch, and can be trusted with things of a...confidential nature," he said, thinking of the Dark Mark on his arm.

"Perhaps," she said simply. "Within reason...but for this, I would rather not take the chance. That is why I did not stay long in her Infirmary...if she had seen the wounds on my back...if she had guessed..."

"So you purchased the solution in Poland," he said, thinking. "Before the Dark Lord caught up with you, trying to find the Painstone." He paused. "Your Polish brewer did not have Blood-Replenishing Potion?"

She seemed uncomfortable. "He did," she said quietly.

"Then why..."

"I could not afford it." The faintest blush of shame appeared on her face, but was gone quickly.

"Ah. You bought Strengthening Solution instead, then, as it is more economical."

"It's complicated," she said quietly. "I have no income, so I was forced..."

"No income?" he frowned. "You have no money?"

"Perhaps a few Knuts at this time," she said quietly. "It is quite understandable, after all, as I have no occupation."

"Your family worked in the Ministry..." he mused. "Your father, I recall...surely you receive some stipend?"

"I don't wish to discuss this further," she said, and there was an edge to her voice that surprised him.

"So your potion-brewing friend gave you the solution," he said. "Rather kind-hearted of him."

"I never said that he _gave_ it to me," she said, her tone tightly controlled.

"Ah," he said. "I see." He paused, wondering what she had offered the brewer. "As I said before, I have seen another struggle with the same addiction...I have a potion which will help allay some of the worst symptoms."

She stood slowly. "Thank you."

He stood as well and retrieved a small vial, coming around the desk to hand it to her. "Three drops twice daily," he said, placing it in her hand. "No more, or you'll develop some nasty side effects."

She took the bottle and placed it in one of her pockets. Looking up into his eyes, she nodded. The pale green that he had come to know had gained a yellowish tint that would be apparent to no one but himself. He needed to do everything in his power to keep it that way. If Fudge found out that Dumbledore had hired an addict, it would be all over the _Daily Prophet_. "Good day," she murmured as she slowly made her way out of his office. He wondered what blood magic she had been working.

He stood there for some time after she left, lost in thought.


	41. Thoughts

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Back in the cold sanctuary of her office, Sarah examined the vial Severus had given to her. It was small, containing amber-coloured fluid, and there was spidery writing on a yellowed label that she couldn't quite understand. It seemed to be in some sort of personal shorthand. She remembered that he'd said three drops, twice daily, so she didn't really need to know what was written there, but she did find it interesting that he had his own private code.

Severus. She set the vial down on her desk. He was a confusion of emotions to her. He seemed cold and distant, cruelly sarcastic...yet had helped her now on more than one occasion. It had been a relief to hear Dumbledore's assurances that he was truly a double agent.

The indecipherable label piqued her curiosity, as did its maker. It was as if he was two people at once. The image of Severus had burned in her memories for sixteen years with his cold, sneering face, and his impervious black eyes. He was a strange foil to the Severus she knew now, who moved with such authority, who seemed to have become someone new.

Of course, he had to feel the same dichotomy about her. She had seen the flicker of guilt that occasionally moved in his eyes. It was just as difficult for him to be near her; probably more so, because his emotions were not being tamped down by using a Painstone.

But how much of this was real? He could be playing both sides, just waiting for the last battle to side with the victor. She sighed. Trust was not the easiest thing for her now, but she could at least try. He had certainly made the first move. Bringing her back to the castle instead of to the Dark Lord at great personal risk was a hazardous thing to do. He had brewed an antidote to his awful poison...and now this vial. All of this could be explained logically, but she thought that there might be something else there, some genuine thought of repentance on his part, though she was still a bit skeptical.

Opening the bottle, she took three drops, a step towards trust.

* * *

The library seemed empty and odd without Hermione.

Harry sighed as he turned pages, trying to find another use for Ashwinder eggs. The words were not cooperating. Somehow it just didn't seem that vital at the moment.

He sat back and rubbed his eyes. Somewhere Voldemort was planning another attack, deciding just how and when to try to kill him or his friends. Yet again Hermione had been hurt trying to help him, and he felt guilty.

He fingered the amulet that Professor Tanner had made for him. It was slightly warm. He had been very careful to not take it off as instructed. He'd had no unsettling dreams, no irrational moments of extreme anger, no visions. Occasionally he felt some surge of emotion, but otherwise, Voldemort was a blank wall to him, implacable and distant. The attack yesterday was a shock, and he felt unsettled.

Ron looked at him. "Something wrong?"

"No," said Harry quickly. "Just wondering if Hermione will be missing any classes tomorrow."

"I hope not. You know how she gets." Ron grimaced. "Plus then we'd have to take notes."

Harry thought for a moment. "I wonder...Do you think that hex they used on Hermione was blood magic?"

Ron shook his head. "Pomfrey said it was a Dark Curse...a spell that poisons the blood."

"True." He absently flipped another page. "I wonder if that would affect a Sanguimagus."

Ron snorted. "It would affect anybody with blood, I'd say." He scribbled another line of his essay, an intense look of concentration on his face.

Harry couldn't stop thinking about it. The hex had almost killed Hermione. Madam Pomfrey had apparently stayed up all night leaching the poison out of Hermione's system.

He was relieved that Professor Tanner had returned, but he wondered how she had gotten away. Maybe her blood magic had protected her. Maybe Voldemort had really bad aim last night. Maybe she ran away really fast.

He picked up his quill and went back to his Ashwinder egg essay.

* * *

Severus was tired. He sat down at his desk and looked at the mound of essays that still needed to be marked. He opened the red ink and took quill in hand, poised over some hapless first year's monstrously misspelled work.

Normally it gave him a grim sense of pride to neatly dissect each incompetent statement, but his mind was simply not focused on the task at hand. There were so many things to worry about that he found himself continually distracted. It was only his own stubbornness that forced him to progress through the stack until he had finished just about half of it.

Leaning back, he dropped his quill on his desk, flexing his hand to work out the cramps. Looking at the time, he realised that dinner was very nearly about to begin.

Spelling off the last vestiges of red ink, he strode off towards the Great Hall. Most of the students were already seated and eating dinner. The staff table was half full, and he noticed that the Headmaster and Minerva had not arrived yet. Aurora also wasn't there, and he nodded civilly at Pomona as he sat down. Looking out automatically towards the Slytherin table, he noticed that Draco looked uncharacteristically subdued. Nott was talking to Pansy. Ah...jealousy. He nearly smirked. Draco's eyes suddenly connected with his own, and he was surprised at the amount of emotion the young man was feeling. Then again, if Pansy's affections truly had been transferred to Nott...and if Nott was asserting himself somehow within the Slytherins...Draco's response certainly would be predictable.

He wished that he had more time as of late to check up on his House, but his current situation precluded it. He looked past Draco to see Sarah entering the hall.

The puzzle of Strengthening Solution was solved now, and he could not help but fret. He hoped fervently that she had taken the potion he gave her. He cut into his steak with a frown. He couldn't even be certain that the remedy he had given would help, considering that she'd been taking a stronger version of the Strengthening Solution, fortified with Re'em blood.

Re'em blood.

Something about that made him think. He began to construct a new version of the antidote to the Lingering Wounds Potion in his head. He rearranged the ingredients...added a drop of Re'em blood...made subtle changes to the timing...

It clicked into place. He suddenly understood what had been going wrong all this time—why it had not been stable. Throwing his napkin on his plate, he stood up and strode out of the hall towards his classroom.


	42. A Breakthrough

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Severus was in the middle of adding a single pinch of dried _Artemsia_ leaves to the potion when there was a sudden knocking at the door. "Come in," he said loudly, intent upon watching the colour shift. The door opened and closed, and he stirred the solution three times precisely before he turned toward his visitor. _Let it not be Silas_, he thought to himself. Perhaps I should have pretended that I wasn't in...

Sarah stood there, one hand clutching the back of a chair. "The r-remedy," she said in a rather odd tone of voice.

"Yes?" he said, curious. "Three drops, twice daily. You didn't take _more_, did you?"

"No," she said. She was shaking badly. "I took th-three drops before d-dinner. And now...I can't sleep...I can't s-stop s-shaking—"

He cursed. "Sit down," he ordered. She did so slowly. "Are you absolutely _certain_ that you took only three drops?"

"Yes, I am n-not in the habit of overdosing," she said with a touch of anger. She swallowed hard. "I c-can't sleep. I c-close my eyes and th-the images..."

"You are, however, describing exactly the symptoms of an overdose," he said, frowning. He thought hard for a moment. "I had made an allowance because you are rather underweight," he said. "But then again, your blood level is low...perhaps three drops was a bit much..."

"A b-bit much?" she said, looking upset. Her shaking was becoming more pronounced.

"I did not think that your poor health would interfere so dramatically with the potion," he said, walking briskly to one of the cabinets. He chose two bottles and walked back to her, keeping an eye on the simmering brew in his cauldron. "Here," he said, holding out the vials. "One is for the trembling, the other is Dreamless Sleep."

She let out a humourless laugh. "Dreamless Sleep?"

"You find something humourous about it?"

She reached up with a shaking hand to take the other vial. "The dosage?"

"The entire vial," he said. He was curious. "You don't want to take the Dreamless Sleep?"

She gulped down the remedy and set the empty bottle on the desk. Within a few moments the trembling was reduced visibly. "Thank you," she breathed.

"It will allay the nightmares," he said, holding out the other potion.

"No, but thank you," she said, beginning to stand up.

He was confused. "This is a simple way to insure that you will sleep—"

"I have not received good results with that potion in a number of years."

"Ah," he said, remembering. "I have nothing to offer you, then."

She nodded and turned to leave.

"About the next treatment..."

"Yes?" she said, stopping to look at him.

"Would you be available Friday night?"

"Yes."

"I am brewing a new variation," he said. "I have added Re'em blood at the end of the first simmering stage and changed the timing of several of the key ingredients..." Seeing her blank look, he hastened to his conclusion. "I believe that the solution will remain stable now."

"Stable..." she said uncertainly. "Meaning..."

"Meaning that this Friday may well be the last application."

She somehow managed to look uncertain and yet somehow hopeful at the same time. "You think so?"

"I think that I have reason to be optimistic."

"Really," she said. "I hope that it does not disappoint."

"Friday, then."

"Yes." She closed the door behind her.

He turned his attention back to the cauldron containing the antidote. He was not quite finished with the first test run, but he had a strong feeling that it was going to be a success.

* * *

Hermione was awake, and looked much like her usual self, complete with book in hand. "Madam Pomfrey says that I'll be able to return to the dormitory tonight," she said.

"That's good," said Harry. "You won't miss any classes."

"Yes, I really can't afford to take any time off, with N.E.W.T.s being so close..."

Ron looked confused. "They're next year!"

"They're only the most important test we'll ever take!" said Hermione. "You should be more worried about them, considering that you'd like to be an Auror."

"Did Pomfrey tell you anything about that hex?" asked Harry.

Hermione frowned. "She said it was Dark Magic." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "I thought it might be blood magic, but it isn't. It's apparently a curse they...the Death Eaters used to use often." She absently put the book aside. "Did Professor Tanner..."

"She's back," said Ron. "We saw her at dinner."

"Is she all right?"

"Seems fine," said Ron, shrugging. "I'd love to know how she got away."

"I would, too," she said, frowning.

"I wonder if she used blood magic," mused Harry.

"Did you feel anything unusual?" asked Hermione.

"Well...my scar hurt." He thought for a moment. "It was warm for a little while."

Hermione looked determined. "We need to get a sample of that potion. He brewed it at least twice, just before the weekend. He might brew it again this Friday."

"Aw, no, Hermione," said Ron.

"I don't want to get caught," said Harry.

Hermione looked upset. "We need to find out if she is in league with Death Eaters. She could be Voldemort's servant, Harry."

"I don't think so," he said resolutely. "She made this amulet to _block_ Voldemort. I don't think that she would have done that if she was really on his side. And she told us she wasn't a Death Eater, don't you remember?"

"That could all be a ruse," argued Hermione. "She could be just waiting for an opportune moment."

"Why don't you like her?" asked Ron.

Hermione turned red. "I never said I didn't like her! I just don't trust her."

"Why not?" asked Harry.

"She's...don't you understand it? She _kills_ things to do blood magic!" She took a deep breath. "Sanguimagi kill wizards and magical creatures to work their spells. That amulet...something died to make that amulet. Every time I see it I wonder..."

"I think she uses blood," said Harry slowly, "but I don't think she kills people for it. And if you're that worried about it, let's ask her."

"As if she would tell the truth," said Hermione exasperatedly.

"If she really was that dangerous, Dumbledore would never have allowed her to teach here," said Harry stubbornly.

"He's right," said Ron. Hermione did not reply.


	43. The Periwinkle Potion

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Severus prowled the classroom, watching the first years intently. This was their first real try at a potion with explosive possibilities, and he wanted to avoid melted cauldrons and charred desktops.

Really, he loathed having them as his first class on Monday. It always seemed to cast such a shadow on the rest of the week. He had to pay attention to the first years at every moment because there were always several who had never touched a knife before, let alone dealt with a heat source and a cauldron. He glared at a Hufflepuff.

"Tell me, Miss Finch...how did I direct you to stir your potion?"

She gulped audibly and stared at him. "Er...er...counter-clockwise...sir."

"Ah," he said lightly. "Counter-clockwise. I see. Then you will explain to me why you are stirring _clockwise_."

"I...I don't know," she said, frightened.

"You are admitting to me that you do not know the difference between clockwise and counter-clockwise? I was under the impression that you knew how to use a clock correctly, as you have managed to get to my class on time for an entire month. Or perhaps your friends"—here he sneered at her—"tell time _for_ you, as I have heard that it can be a rather complicated concept."

She was completely frozen, eyes wide.

"I suggest that you work out the apparently difficult puzzle of which direction is which before you attend my next class," he said softly. He walked back up to his desk and sat down, glowering at the rest, whose attention had been drawn by the interaction. They went back to work.

He turned his attention to the last of the homework and resisted the urge to sigh. The next class would contain Potter, and that was another reason to detest Mondays.

Really, the only good thing about today was the cauldron full of Sarah's antidote which even now sat on his worktable. It was beautiful, the periwinkle now true and evenly coloured instead of having the barest undercurrent of sickly green. It was a masterpiece. He had filled a vial to keep for himself and it was like a warm jewel in the pocket of his robe. It clinked next to the Veritaserum and he could feel both against his chest. The knowledge that he had brewed the near-unbrewable—twice—filled him with pride. Few had accomplished the Lingering Wounds Potion. None but he had completed the antidote. He would administer the potion to Sarah on Friday, and she would be perfectly healed, and then she would be out of his head forever. No more worrying. No more nightmares about her. He could safely bottle her and leave her on a shelf, his guilt finally finished. She could discard her horrible Painstone and live life anew somewhere else.

The Finch girl was crying softly at her desk.

He marked the essay in front of him with a D and went on to the next.

* * *

"That potion on his worktable," whispered Hermione.

"What?" said Harry. He was attempting to mince the leaves as finely as possible, but stopped to look at her.

"It's periwinkle," she said in a low voice. "That's the potion Ginny saw. That's the potion for Professor Tanner." She looked to where Snape sat at his desk, seemingly oblivious to their exchange. "We need to get a sample of it."

"No, Hermione. It's too dangerous!" he hissed.

"Hush up, you two," warned Ron, but it was too late.

Snape looked in their direction, his black eyes glittering. "Something on your mind, Potter?" he drawled, making his way across the classroom to stand in front of him.

"No, sir," said Harry quietly.

Snape leaned in. "I don't remember giving leave to gossip, Potter." Harry tried to stay calm. "What is the matter? Another _Witch Weekly_ article smearing your girlfriend's reputation?"

_I won't react I won't react I won't react_, he thought firmly to himself.

"Oh, I had forgotten, you've set your sights much higher now...where was it your little interview appeared...oh, yes, that paragon of journalistic excellence, _The Quibbler_." There was an appreciative snicker from the Slytherins. "I must say, that publication was the wisest choice for your...story."

Harry looked up, his face turning red. Snape merely sneered at him.

Then he narrowed his black eyes, staring at something else. "Where did you get that?" he said softly.

Harry looked down and realised that his amulet was partially visible, having somehow gotten tangled in the neck of his robe. "Er..." He looked desperately at Ron, who looked frightened.

"I asked you a question," hissed Snape.

"Professor Tanner," he said as quietly as he could manage.

Something akin to shock flickered in Snape's eyes for a moment. He reached one long-fingered hand towards it, and Harry instinctively stepped back.

"Speak to me after class," said Snape angrily. He stalked back up to his desk.

Hermione turned worried eyes towards him. He tucked the amulet back into his robe, hoping that no one else had noticed. He measured out the minced leaves with unsteady hands and stirred them in slowly.

His potion was the right consistency, but the wrong shade of violet, and he corked it and left it on the desk with the rest of the students' vials.

The bell rang, and Ron and Hermione lingered, picking up their books as slowly as possible, but Snape noticed and immediately sent them on their way. That left only Harry.

"When did she give it to you?" asked Snape, fixing him with a dark look.

"The first day of term," he answered.

"What is it for?" he asked softly.

"To block Vol—to block him from my mind," said Harry, not wishing to lose more points for Gryffindor by angering him further. Snape didn't like to hear Voldemort's name spoken aloud.

"Let me see it," he said, holding out his hand.

"I can't take it off." He brought the stone out of his robes and showed it to him.

Snape touched it with one yellow finger, murmuring something to himself, and then straightened up. "Professor Tanner was very generous to create such a thing for you," he said, making it sound as if Harry was quite unworthy. "I hope you appreciate her...sacrifice."

Harry looked up at Snape and realised that the professor knew that she was a Sanguimagus somehow. "I do," he said truthfully.

"You are dismissed," he said with a wave of his hand. Harry left as quickly as he could, sparing only a single backwards glance to see Snape looking at the cauldron on his worktable.


	44. An Owl

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Severus stormed into her office that evening, and Sarah was surprised to see that he was quite angry.

"You made Potter an amulet," he said, pointing an accusatory finger at her.

There was no reason to hide it if he already knew. "Yes," she said.

"You used blood to create it," he said, fixing her with angry black eyes.

"Yes."

"_Potter_ is the reason you had to take Strengthening Solution," he said in a deceptively soft voice. "He is why you are addicted."

"Yes, among other things," she said.

He paused for a moment. "Draco told me that you were allowing Potter to have his DA meetings in your classroom, but I dismissed it as nonsense." He ran a hand through his hair. "I thought he must be misinformed..."

"No, he was correct."

"Why?"

"I have been given a safe haven here at Hogwarts," she said carefully. "I find myself in the very great debt of Headmaster Dumbledore. Hence, when he asks me to do something for him—whether it be creating an amulet, or hosting a student organisation—I find that I generally wish to acquiesce."

His expression slowly changed from anger to comprehension. "Oh," he said, and he sank down onto her couch, which proved to be quite awkward because she had never attempted to transfigure it back to its original shape. He looked at it oddly.

"Why does it matter to you that it was Potter?" she asked, somewhat curious.

Severus grimaced. "That would be a lengthy explanation, and I have no particular desire to speak of it now." He sat in silence for a moment, apparently deep in thought.

She went back to marking essays, her auto-quill obediently scratching a mark on the essay in front of her. After the third essay she finally heard the door close, and looked up to see him gone, and her couch transfigured back to its proper shape.

* * *

It was a beautiful morning. The Great Hall was filled with light and conversation. Sarah took a sip of water, quite relieved that she'd been able to eat half a bowl of porridge. The withdrawal remedy seemed to be working.

She'd gotten up earlier than usual, plagued by a few bad dreams. The other teachers seemed a little worried, and she'd overheard Pomona reading from the early edition of the _Prophet_ that was delivered to her at her first breakfast every morning. Aurora and Severus were listening; Severus was frowning. He looked even more stressed than usual. There had apparently been a mysterious attack, and though the _Prophet_ made no mention of the Dark Mark, Pomona was certain that it had come from You-Know-Who.

There was a hand on her shoulder, and she turned to look into the kind blue eyes of the Headmaster. "Happy Birthday, Sarah," he said, smiling.

"Thank you, Headmaster," she said. He followed Minerva out of the Great Hall, stopping to trade a few words with Silas, who was on his way in, uncharacteristically late.

She looked out into the Hall, noticing an early owl, who was dropping a package to one of the first years at the Hufflepuff table. She could not suppress a smile as she thought of her own first year at Hogwarts. Homesick, frightened, and lonely, she had come to breakfast on her birthday, and a Ministry owl had dropped a parcel to her containing some of her mother's tarts and a toy from her father, along with a wonderful note about life and new experiences. It seemed so long ago, yet she could still recall perfectly her delight as she read her parents' loving words.

She heard Silas sit down next to her. She continued to watch as the happy first year unwrapped his gift and showed it proudly to his House mates.

"Good morning," said Silas.

"Good morning," she murmured.

Owls descended, dropping letters and parcels among the rest of the students, and Sarah took another sip of water.

A Ministry owl was winging its way towards the head table.

That was peculiar. Most of the teachers arranged for private delivery.

In fact, it was heading directly for her.

Sarah's heart gave a painful squeeze. _Surely not_—

The owl dropped a letter in front of her. There was a faint click of metal striking metal. The owl flew away, and she sat dumbfounded for a moment.

It just could not be from him. _But it is my birthday...and it is a Ministry owl_... With trembling fingers she carefully ripped it open. Inside there was no letter. In fact, she almost thought that it was empty, until she peered further in.

At the bottom of the envelope rested two black nails. Dried blood had stained the parchment brown. The faintest scent wafted up and dissipated, but not before she recognised it.

She had to close her eyes for a moment to fight off the panic. Lucius. A simple threat. She could almost hear his cultured voice saying _I know where you are_. She opened her eyes, and folded the envelope up, taking care not to touch the nails. She put it in a pocket of her robes, trying to recover her wits.

"Are you interested in carpentry?" asked a thoroughly bewildered Silas. "Why would anyone owl you nails?"

She turned to look at him. "I don't know," she replied. "Perhaps as a joke." Severus was looking at her suddenly, and as her eyes met his, Silas turned to see who she was looking at.

"An odd idea for a joke," said Silas, turning his attention to the jug of orange juice and pouring himself a glass.

"Yes," she said.

"Severus? Do you know why anyone would owl nails to Sarah?" asked Silas.

"I am quite certain that Sarah's owls are of little concern to nearly anyone but herself," said Severus coldly, but there was a hint of worry in his eyes.

Silas frowned. "It is a matter of concern to all of us here on the staff," he said petulantly. "If this is the work of some prank-prone student, then it needs to be fully investigated, and lessons in respect administered. If it is something else...something more malevolent...why, then there needs to be an investigation as well. The last thing this school needs is another threat to its students." He glared at Severus. "After all, she was attacked recently, and students were hurt in the process. I'd say that not only are her owls of great concern to everyone, but that they need to be screened in order to prevent any further danger to the children here."

Severus looked angry. "Screening a teacher's private owls? One would think you were planning on making yourself High Inquisitor."

"Do you care so little for this school that you would _encourage_ danger to enter its very front door?" bristled Silas. "Surely your misguided attraction to her does not leave you blind to her obvious capacity to bring harm to Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts does not need _your_ protection," said Severus softly. "And I would thank you to stop making unfounded accusations."

"Don't think that I won't go to the Headmaster about this," warned Silas.

"Of course you will," answered Severus. "That's what you're best at, really."

Silas threw his napkin on his plate. "Just because I care about what goes on here—"

"What exactly are you implying—"

Sarah stood up. "Good day," she said to them both, and walked out of the hall, leaving an uncomfortable silence in her wake.


	45. Malfoy Manor

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Sarah sat in her office, taking a few moments to finish rereading the chapter she was currently teaching the sixth years. There was a light knock at the door. "Come in," she said.

The door opened to reveal Filius, who carried in one hand an immaculately wrapped gift. "Hello, Sarah," he said. "Happy Birthday." He handed her the present.

"Why...thank you," she said, surprised. She unwrapped a thick book on advanced Charms. "It's lovely." She fingered the gilt lettering on the spine.

"It's quite new," said Filius excitedly. "The author has obviously done her research...the chapter on Talismans is especially well thought out." He beamed at her for a moment. "Perhaps when you have finished we could discuss her approach," he added.

She looked at him, surprised. Was he volunteering to have an extended conversation with her? "That would be nice," she said, smiling faintly.

"Good evening, then," he said.

"Yes, good evening," she said, watching as he left.

* * *

Sarah woke to a quiet and dark room. It dimly registered that it was late, very late, and her eyes began to adjust to the gloom. The cold air was comforting against the heat that always poured from her body. She blinked a few times. _I'm alone. This is not his room. This is not my room. _ She was disoriented until it came to her that of course she was alone, he was gone and would never come back, and she was at Hogwarts, trapped.

* * *

Severus dreamt, a nightmare chorus, a razor whip, a high-pitched voice, an endless litany of blame and guilt. He woke to find himself cold and disoriented, the covers thrown off, the dark room oppressive, his arm asleep. He tried to calm himself, drawing the blankets back up over his body, but sleep would not return.

* * *

An eagle owl swooped low, bringing Severus a message. He ripped open the envelope and pulled out the letter. Lucius. He scanned it quickly. An invitation. During his only free time in the school week. He scowled, but it could not be avoided. Lucius was still far too powerful, his pull extending through the Death Eaters and the Ministry.

And Lucius was his friend.

Perhaps his only friend, really; most of his childhood friends had been killed towards the end of the Dark Lord's first years of power. Lucius had stuck with him, even when it was not advantageous to his societal climbing, and Severus knew how difficult that was for a man like Lucius.

He folded the letter and placed it in a pocket.

As much as Severus hated giving up his one free class of the week, he could at least be comforted that he might learn some new bit of information for the Order.

* * *

The doorknocker argued with Severus for a moment, but finally agreed to alert the Malfoys to his presence.

The door opened. Narcissa let him into the Manor, and showed him immediately to the study. She seemed to be preoccupied, and said very little, taking his travelling cloak and then closing the door behind him as she left.

"Severus," said Lucius warmly. "Let me offer you a drink."

"Thank you," he murmured in return. Obviously Lucius was in a good mood. "I must thank you again for your timely intervention in that messy affair..." A messy affair that had been entirely Lucius's fault, really, but nonetheless he really was grateful for the help.

Lucius waved his hand dismissively. "That was as much for my own protection as yours," he said. "Poor Burgin...I daresay he was ill prepared for such an investigation." He handed Severus a tumbler of firewhisky.

"He should have taken more care," said Severus darkly.

"Yes," agreed Lucius, sitting down behind his desk. It was impressively clean and gleaming save for a beautiful quill and ink bottle set in a serpent quill holder. He set his own drink down. "We all must take great care these days..."

Severus nodded and sipped his drink. "Speaking of risky behaviours..."

Lucius smiled in a predatory manner. "The owl yesterday."

"Yes," said Severus. "Silas noticed."

"What I wouldn't give to see her face at that moment," said Lucius. "You wouldn't be open to putting the memory in a Pensieve, would you?"

"I would rather not."

"Of course," sighed Lucius. He took another elegant sip of his firewhisky. "Perhaps Draco will when he returns for the summer..." Lucius's eyes were unfocused. "Do you know, I still dream of her," he said wistfully. "My work...preserved for her lifetime, as beautiful as the day I bestowed it upon her. I remember so well her unmarked flesh, and the first application of the Slicing Charm...she trembled so gracefully under my hand..." His voice trailed off for a moment. "She is my masterpiece." He suddenly looked up at Severus. "The Dark Lord has promised that I may keep her when her services are not being required."

He repressed a shiver. "Really."

"You will have to brew it again," said Lucius, his grey eyes hopeful.

"I cannot," said Severus, as firmly as he dared.

Lucius looked cross. "I don't see why not."

"One of the ingredients is impossible to obtain."

"You brewed it before."

"Yes, but at that time we had free reign to plunder Ministry supplies. I used the last that they had, and that was nearly two hundred years old."

"The Dark Lord will obtain it for you," said Lucius. "Surely you don't need much of it, after all."

Severus gritted his teeth. Even if the Dark Lord brought him bucketfuls of the elusive substance he wouldn't brew it. Not even on pain of death. Never again. "It is a tricky potion, even with the correct ingredients," he said, trying to appear calm. "You must recall how many failures there were before I succeeded."

"Yes, of course," said Lucius impatiently. "But you did succeed in the end, and it was brilliant. One single cauldron-full, enough for countless applications."

_And nearly twenty deaths_. "I am telling you that it is highly unlikely that I would succeed again," he said. "And I think it is not the best time to approach the Dark Lord in an attempt to retrieve a potion ingredient." _I will not be responsible for a lifetime of agony again_.

Lucius sighed. "Too true. Perhaps later...when Harry Potter is no longer a difficulty..." He sipped his firewhisky slowly. "Draco tells me that Nott is becoming a problem."

"Really?" asked Severus, curious. "He does seem to have found Pansy's affections."

"The boy has always been on the periphery until now," mused Lucius. "Draco tells me that recently he seems to be currying favour within the group. I am beginning to suspect that there are plots of which we know nothing."

Severus was alarmed, remembering Nott's conversation with Filius, and the odd sickness afterward. Azkaban had certainly whittled away at Lucius's channels of information, and Severus wondered how dangerous it was that he knew so little about Nott's plans. "He has been involved in some very suspect behaviour lately," he agreed.

Lucius poured himself more firewhisky. "You are staying for dinner, are you not?"

"I was planning on returning."

"Stay," commanded Lucius. "I've already informed Narcissa."

"Very well," said Severus.

"Good," smiled Lucius triumphantly. "I have another piece of artwork that you might be interested in," he added.

_I doubt it_. "Your artist must be quite thankful for your multiple commissions."

Lucius was standing up, his robes as impeccable and unwrinkled as they always were. "You'll be impressed by the resemblance."

Severus stood as well. "To whom?"

Lucius smiled, he eyes unnaturally lit from within. "Why, Sarah, of course."

No. He couldn't possibly watch. But he would have to, as Lucius would be affronted if he didn't. Severus clamped down hard on his emotions.

Lucius led the way to his private art room, mentioning his latest Ministry battles, but Severus could barely pay attention. Lucius was his friend, yes, but that did not mean that he was blind to the elder Malfoy's faults. His overwhelming predilection for pain was a weakness that could never be fully satiated or overcome. Despite all of the power and wealth he possessed, despite his elegant wife and pure-blood heir, there was some wildness within him that needed another to submit to him completely, unwillingly, and pay for it in their pain.

Lucius was pulling the drapes back with a flick of his wand, and, pointing to the hapless victim, he waited in breathless anticipation as a man entered the painting. Severus noticed that the man bore more than a passing resemblance to Lucius, and that the girl was obviously shorter than Sarah. That was certainly new.

The painting-Lucius grabbed the painting-Sarah by the arm, and began the violent tableau. Severus forced himself to concentrate on the difference. _She is not Sarah_.


	46. Potions Class

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

"Who can tell me what went wrong during the purposing stage?" asked Sarah, holding up an amulet. "Yes, Miss Chang, explain."

"The item wasn't properly prepared," said the Ravenclaw student. "It became overloaded during the purposing and the spell didn't take."

"Absolutely correct," said Sarah. "Five points to Ravenclaw." She flicked her wand, and the assignment appeared on the board. "This will be due by next Friday. And remember to write legibly," she added. The students obediently began to copy down the instructions on the board. The bell rang. "Good day," she said as they left.

She banked the fire and went into her office to rebandage her arm before lunch. The cold air was a relief after the warmth of the classroom. The book from Filius sat on her desk, left open at the last page she had read.

She felt strange. She felt a little anxious. Tonight Severus would bring his new version of the potion. She could not bring herself to hope that it would work...but still, he seemed so confident that it made her wonder.

She did not remember much of him from their school days together. She did not remember this certainty, this authority, the proud demeanour he now wore. She wondered at the change. He had seemed nasty as a student. Frightened. Petty.

She changed the bandage efficiently. She turned his character over in her mind, pulled him apart. She remembered how he had been on that horrible night. His cold voice...his hands, which did not shake as he administered the potion. He had seemed distant, remote, and had looked at her as if she was completely insignificant, and deserving of this treatment.

Now she saw little of that in him. Cold, yes; nasty, distant, but he had become human to her again at some point. She remembered her words of revenge, her anger, her pain, her vow, broken and useless now.

* * *

Harry raced down the corridor with Ron, determined not to be late for Potions. Their footsteps rang out on the cold stone floor. "Almost there," panted Ron.

Hermione stood up quickly. "I was beginning to wonder where you'd gotten to," she said.

"We were looking for you!" said Ron hotly. "Where'd you get to, anyway?"

"I was busy," she said vaguely.

"What are you planning?" said Harry.

"You're not still on about nicking that potion," said Ron, frightened.

"You should go in, or you'll be late," she said.

Harry grabbed Ron and pulled him into the classroom. Hermione looked down the corridor, but came in a moment or two after them. She took her seat just as the bell rang.

Snape looked completely preoccupied, and wrote quickly in a large journal. His desk held a small collection of empty vials, and he seemed to be preparing labels for them. He looked up at students and pointed his wand at the board. The directions for the day's potion appeared.

* * *

Hermione stared at the cauldron at the back of the room on Snape's worktable. Harry felt a stab of fear. What was she going to do?

Severus felt quite confident about the evening's potion application with Sarah. So confident, in fact, that he was pre-labelling all of the vials for the extracted potion, preparing them for study later. He was also busy scratching out a template in his journal to organise tonight's collected information.

It would be over soon. He felt a glow of pride as he contemplated the application.

There was a sudden noise from the corridor, and he frowned as he recognised the familiar laughter of Peeves. He was surprised, really. The Bloody Baron usually saw to it that the poltergeist kept out of the dungeons.

There was an even louder noise, and a shouted bit of nonsense. He froze. He almost could have sworn the awful thing had said Snivellus.

Flushed with anger, he leapt out of his seat and made for the door. Yanking it open so hard it almost came off its hinges, he lunged forward. "Peeves!" he shouted.

The floor was coated with ice, he realised belatedly. Off-balance, he tried desperately to right himself, but only succeeded in falling soundly on his side. This was not a simple ice spell, either, because he was hurtling towards the wall at an only slightly diminished speed. He collided painfully, and had to clench his teeth to avoid yelling. He was still sliding, now in the other direction, and he heard a student who sounded like Parkinson screech as she fell, too.

Peeves was positively howling with laughter, and throwing snowballs at everyone.

He grabbed his wand and quickly performed several spells in succession, but none aimed at the ice affected it in the slightest. He did manage to slow his own rate of speed down, but that did not prevent Parkinson from careening directly into him, still shrieking. He gritted his teeth. Hopefully Nott owned a pair of earmuffs.

The ice finally ended some distance down the corridor, and he came to a halt on the bare stone. He went to stand up, and his hip ached painfully, prolonging the action. A few more spells and the students—most of the class had apparently tried venturing out into the super-slick corridor—were slowed to manageable speeds, and could be guided to the edge of the ice carefully. A snowball struck him full in the shoulder, and only his quick reflexes saved him from nearly putting Patil through a wall. Draco looked furious, and launched a curse at the poltergeist, who did a backflip and stuck his tongue out at him.

He really wished that Umbridge had run the awful creature out as she had promised Filch.

The students looked miserable, and they were now on the wrong side. Some needed to see Poppy. He had to get rid of this awful sheet of ice somehow. But that would mean also disposing of the water generated by melting it. He could simply levitate each student across, but that would take considerable time and energy. Or perhaps a little Transfiguration on their boots...metal grips that could let them walk across safely...

Experimentally, he pointed to his own boot, and spikes obediently appeared from the sole. He did the same to the other. He took a step on the ice, wincing at the pain in his hip.

He stood firm. As slick as the ice had been enchanted to be, it had not been meant to deal with iron spikes.

"Malfoy," he said, pointing to his shoes. Draco quickly caught on, and in a few moments all were walking across the ice warily. Brown was being helped by Patil, as she'd sprained her wrist and was crying. He sent a group to the Infirmary after collecting their things and then he stepped back into the classroom.

Only three hadn't walked out into the corridor. Granger, Thomas, and Nott were still there, waiting expectantly.

Nott. Severus wondered what, exactly, was going on. Had this been some sort of distraction, while one of these three did something untoward? Nothing looked out of place, and his private store cupboard would have wailed had someone attempted to steal anything out of it. While he was still contemplating what could possibly have happened, the bell rang. All three looked relieved and left as quickly as possible.

He was cold, and quite wet. He snarled as he went into his private chambers and changed into dry robes, noting the dark bruises already spreading across his side. He would inform the Headmaster during lunch, and hopefully Filius could figure out an easy way to dispel the ice quickly and cleanly.

* * *

During lunch Sarah felt Severus's eyes upon her more than once, and her thoughts continually strayed to the evening's application. She did not bother putting porridge onto her plate and only sipped water, though she did feel hungry, thank Merlin. She simply did not want to become nauseated during the procedure.

She would not hope. She would not think of it. She could not be disappointed yet again.


	47. The Third Treatment

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Severus gathered up his journals and sample vials and placed them in his portable potions case. He looked around the classroom one more time, wondering if there was anything he'd forgotten. Satisfied, he turned to the cauldron.

Something was different. Though he had held the potion to a constant heat for three days, none of it had evaporated, signalling its stability. But now the level of the potion was noticeably lower. He could see a ring of darker periwinkle drying around the edge of the brew.

Someone had stolen some of the antidote. That very day.

He gripped the edge of the desk and clenched his teeth. Who could have taken it? And why? Silas. It would be the proof the horrid professor needed...

Then he remembered the ice-slick in the corridor. It had been a distraction for someone.

One of the students.

Nott. Thomas. Granger.

Merlin help him if Nott had gotten a hold of it. If the Death Eaters found out that he was brewing an antidote to his own Lingering Wounds Potion...if they knew that he was helping Sarah...

He cursed. Loudly. More complications. More nightmares.

Well, he couldn't help anything now. He would have to deal with it when it arose. For now he'd go to Sarah's room. The potion was unchanged, and the small amount that had been stolen was not enough to make a difference.

He levitated his potions case and the cauldron and strode out the door. Thankfully Filius and Minerva had assisted him in melting and draining the ice-slick. The only sign that it had been impassable mere hours before was a damp stain near the walls. A Weasley twins creation, Filius had said. He scowled. Even after their departure he still wished that he could give them detentions. Preferably harvesting rat bile.

Sarah was waiting, much as she had been waiting before, though she had not bothered to cover her forearm this time.

"Good evening," he said. There was a table next to the bed, and he set up the cauldron, the journal, and the sample vials atop it, Transfiguring it to accommodate everything.

"Good evening," she said, and he was struck by her expression. She looked apprehensive.

"You are ready?" he asked.

"Obviously."

He pulled back the sheet and examined the wounds that he had treated before. They seemed to have made some progress towards healing, and he was quite relieved at that. The rest looked exactly the same.

"I'm going to apply the solution to all of the wounds," he informed her, turning towards the cauldron.

She looked at him quizzically. "All?"

"The solution is stable, and it is obvious that even in its unstable version it is effective." He paused. "Would you rather I only did half? I could...but I was under the impression that you were in significant discomfort. I assumed that you would like to put an end to this tonight."

Hope lurked in her eyes. "Tonight...would be excellent," she said, but she didn't seem entirely convinced.

Her lack of faith irked him. "Then I will proceed."

"Very well," she said softly, laying her head on her right forearm and closing her eyes.

Carefully he began the process, opening each wound and applying a healthy amount of the antidote. She was tense, though she made not a single noise, even as he brought the sheet down to her lower legs and applied it to the last, and worst, wound on the back of her left thigh. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve. The heat radiating from her was quite noticeable without layers of clothing to hide it. _Merlin, how has she lived like this for so long?_

He sat down in a chair and scratched out several notes in his journal. He had carefully timed the application, and felt that an hour would give it enough time to bond with the potion. He only had a few minutes left before he would begin the second stage.

"Sarah?" he asked quietly.

"Yes?"

"I am going to begin removing the solution from the wounds soon," he said. "How do you feel?"

She opened her eyes, and for a moment he registered the pain she was feeling. "You needn't concern yourself," she said quietly. "I will let you know if there is a problem." She closed her eyes again.

He added a few more notes. "I've brought a few healing solutions," he said, trying to instill her with some measure of confidence. "It's entirely conceivable that you'll be free of scarring once the procedure is over and a few days have passed."

"Really."

He looked at the hourglass. It was time.

He spoke the incantation aloud, and his wand reacted. He placed it at the wound near the base of her neck and performed the gesture that would pull the antidote out, and the old potion with it. Nothing happened. He gestured again. Nothing. He frowned. It would be unhealthy to leave the antidote in for too long, and he was beginning to feel apprehensive. He gestured a third time, forcefully.

She screamed, and he stared in horror. The antidote had brought out the old potion. It had also taken some of her flesh with it.

He sat down heavily in the chair, shaking. His stomach did an abrupt flip. Clearly the Lingering Wounds Potion had been in the cuts for so long that it had actually become adhered to the tissues it inhabited.

He had failed. In the most awful way possible.

"_Accio_," she said raggedly. She caught something in her hand.

This was the worst possible scenario. He had already applied the solution to every wound. They would all react similarly. His antidote was far too strong. He felt nauseated.

There was a sudden feeling, a feeling of Dark Magic, faint but growing. He felt as if a vortex pulling on him, drawing him in, becoming stronger.

She was using the Painstone, he realised. Dark pressure filled the room. It was a near-tangible presence; the power of the gem surprised him, vibrating in the air, until it faded, and he came back to himself with a start.

"Please continue," she said neutrally.

"Continue?" He stared at her.

"Remove the rest of the potion," she said.

"You don't understand," he said. "It has adhered itself to your flesh. The only way to remove it is to rip it out. I must find a way to draw out only the antidote and begin rebrewing—"

"No," she said in a flat, emotionless voice. "Take it out. Take it all out now."

He ran a hand through his hair. "Sarah...you'll...it will be too difficult for you. The pain...you'll lose too much blood...the scarring will be significant."

"I have a Painstone, as you well know. I'm certain that you have a Blood Replenishing Potion. And scars do not concern me. I want it all removed. Tonight."

He took a deep breath and tried to regain his composure. "I'm not certain..." he began. "Poppy should be here."

"No," she said evenly. "It would be quite problematic to use a Painstone in front of her."

He had to admit that she was right. "Ready yourself, then," he said. For a moment he could not even bring himself to continue, knowing how bloody and traumatic it would be. He tightened his grip. He spoke the words of the incantation and performed the gesture, ripping out the next application of antidote. There was no reaction from Sarah except a pulse of Dark Magic from the stone in her hand. He went to the next wound. And the next. He forced himself to continue, to concentrate on each slice, tearing out the vile potion. He deliberately blotted out the rest of her body, focusing on one at a time until he came to the last. With a determined motion he pulled out the final portion of the Lingering Wounds Potion.

It was over. But instead of a feeling of triumph, he could only look at her body in frightened horror. The cuts had sagged in, becoming divots in her flesh, oozing blood.

"It's all gone," she said, and it was eerie to hear her speak so emotionlessly while he stared at her ravaged back.

"Yes," he said. He tried to look away from her ruined skin, and swallowed back a wave of revulsion. "I am going to try healing them, but with so much tissue removed it will most likely take repeated applications..."

"Do what you can," she said simply.

He opened his potions case and removed a few vials. Carefully he applied a small amount of the first vial to the wound. He held his breath as the purple liquid slowly traversed the depression in her flesh, smoking terrifically. He cursed. It wasn't going to work. He unstoppered the second vial and poured a few drops directly to the slice. This time the liquid was absorbed, albeit slowly, and the bleeding slowed down dramatically. Relief washed over him. He coated all of the wounds liberally.

"I've reduced the bleeding," he said. "The healing potion will have to be reapplied, at least twice. Can you sit up? You need to take a Blood-Replenishing Potion."

She sat up slowly, her hand wrapped around the Painstone tightly. "When will the healing potion need to be reapplied?"

He selected a small goblet from his case and enlarged it, pouring in the proper dose. He handed it to her and she quaffed it without hesitation. "Twelve hours."

"Leave it with me, then." She grimaced at the taste of the Blood-Replenishing Potion and handed him back the goblet.

"You can't possibly apply it to yourself," he said. "I'll return in twelve hours."

"You don't have to."

He looked at her, and her eyes revealed nothing. Even Legilimency was of no help when she had so much pain to transmit to the Painstone. "I know that it isn't required. I am volunteering. There is a difference."

"If you must," she replied, and she laid down, putting her head upon her arm once more and closing her eyes. She looked physically exhausted.

He began to spell the excess blood off her back, revealing the pale white of her skin between the wounds. He winced at the amount of damage still left to heal. This was not how he had planned it at all, and it was difficult to look at her. He took a sheet of the thick white material that she used as a bandage and carefully set it on her back. She did not react. He bound her leg and arm and sat down in the chair, writing down his last notations regarding the application.

The steaming samples were quite gruesome, and he couldn't bring himself to save them, not even for the sake of further experimentation. Knowing that the potion would take a lengthy amount of time to separate from the tissue, if ever, made him question its value, and in the end he finally decided to dissolve them entirely. No good could come of keeping the Lingering Wounds Potion around in any form. He packed up the empty sample bottles, still hot from their recent contents, and poured the last of the cauldron's contents into a larger flask. He closed his potions case.

"Can you sleep?" he asked. "You could try the Dreamless Sleep Potion..."

"No thank you," she said, not even opening her eyes.

He pulled the blankets up over her still form, and left, extinguishing the torches as he closed the door behind him.


	48. Pity

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Severus dreamt.

_The air is thick with ghosts. They are leaving Hogwarts, leaving forever, and he watches, unconcerned. Hogwarts will still be Hogwarts, even without them._

_The Bloody Baron nods as he floats past, and Severus returns the nod solemnly._ _Ghosts are drifting out the front doors, disappearing, set adrift on the wind. Sarah is there, walking with the ghosts, leaving the castle as well, her face as impassive as it normally is. He wonders why she is joining the ghosts in their odd exile._

_The dungeons are empty. Even emptier than during the holidays. Shadows line the corridors. The hallways seem to swallow him whole. He is oddly disconcerted and walks back up the steps._

_He finds that Hogwarts is now completely empty._

_He checks classrooms, the staff room, the kitchens, the halls. There is not one living soul left there save himself. Not a single house-elf. Not a single ghost._

_He races back to the Entrance Hall, calling her name, but she is already gone._

* * *

Sarah lingered somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.Her mind watched progressions of pictures, odd disjointed images of Hogwarts, her childhood home, Das Herrenhaus, that forest in Poland. She felt detached. Isolated. Someone said her name faintly. Her father? Macnair? 

There was a grove before her, terrifying, the memory of it reaching out like Devil's Snare to grasp at her...

Someone's hand was on her arm, and she jerked awake suddenly.

"Sarah?" said Severus.

She blinked a few times and rested her head back on her forearm. At some point during the night she'd let go of the Painstone, and it sat innocently enough on the bed.

If he had wanted to, he could have taken it and left, and she'd have been none the wiser.

He had passed yet another test of trust. While she, at nearly every turn, had fought it mightily. She was beginning to realise that there was something more to this man than what he had been. His gaze wandered to the Painstone and back to her.

"I'm sorry," she said.

He looked surprised for a moment. "Accepted," he said at last. Sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed, he fumbled with his potions case for a moment. Odd, really, as he had more grace in his little finger than she possessed in her entirety. Then again, there had been something in his eyes, some strange look of...something she could not really identify.

She closed her eyes as the potion began its work, biting and burning its way to healing. Her back was still quite warm, but it was an entirely different kind of warmth. The change was hard to believe.

"It looks as if you are beginning to heal," he said, a look of concentration on his face as he applied the healing solution. "I doubt that anything can be done for the scarring, though. The wounds are too deep."

"I am not concerned about scarring," she said. "I simply wish to be able to walk about properly again, and not have to worry about bandages and cooling charms and whether or not I can sit down in a chair without having to use the Painstone. In fact, it would be quite preferable to never have to use the Painstone ever again."

He worked his way down her back, frowning slightly. "At least one more application," he said. "Perhaps two. And you shouldn't get out of bed for at least an hour. In fact, you should probably rest through the weekend."

She drew her arm out from under her cheek and absently flexed her tingling fingers. "Yes," she agreed.

"I have an...appointment later today," he said. "But I could bring you breakfast, if you like, and lunch..."

"There is no need," she said. "I will contact Dobby. He has procured meals for me before."

"Ah, of course," he said quietly. For a moment she thought he looked relieved. Which made sense, really, as she couldn't imagine him wishing to wait on someone. "I will return tonight to reapply the solution." He made no move to leave.

"Thank you," she said simply.

There was the faintest flush to his face. "You're welcome," he murmured, and averted his eyes.

The pain had been building, and she reached across the sheet and took the Painstone in hand. The healing solution hurt as it repaired, and she fed more pain into the stone, the familiar deadening weight descending upon her and pinning her to the bed until she released it.

He looked at her again, and there was some trace of apprehension on his face. "I could give you a potion..."

"Unless it is the Draught of the Living Death, there isn't much point."

"There are other potions which might give you some respite," he said.

"Your offer is kind," she said, "but I must refuse. There are few pain or sleep potions which still work for me, and I do not wish to see them lose their effectiveness as well. Besides, they are quite expensive."

"Expense does not matter," he said. "The ingredients that I've used to create the antidote cost more than your entire year's salary. What is the cost, in comparison to its benefits?"

"I have the Painstone," she said calmly. "It does not require Galleons to remove the pain."

"It costs something a great deal more worthwhile," he said softly.

For a split second she thought he knew what it cost to create one, but the lack of disgust on his face finally convinced her that he had no idea. "A day's worth of emotion is a low price to pay," she said.

He finally gave a small nod, still looking at her. "I will return later," he promised as he stood, his robes swirling around his form.

She simply closed her eyes, knowing that sleep would not overtake her. She heard the door close quietly behind him.

* * *

Three quick stirs with the spoon, and the potion had turned the proper orange colour and thickened noticeably. Severus turned the heat off with his wand, noting that the burn-healing paste was in good order. A seventh year had irritated a Snapdragon in Herbology, and it had reacted predictably, leaving the unfortunate student in the infirmary and nearly clearing out the last of Poppy's stock.

The Order meeting was rapidly approaching, and he grew more and more irritable. It was preposterous that the Headmaster was even entertaining the notion that Silas would be a valuable member of the group. The bloody fool would be insufferable, as always, and he hoped fervently that the vote would go against him. It was bad enough dealing with the Defence teacher at Hogwarts. It would be impossible to deal with him in the Order as well.

He knew already that it was a losing battle. The Order was short on people, and Sirius's absence had worried many. They needed help. Silas was unlikely to be rejected, despite his actions. Severus even wondered if bringing up the attempted blackmail would actually sway them towards supporting Silas. After all, that kind of gutsy maneouvre might be appreciated. Taking on a man suspected of Dark Magic in the guise of protecting children would be viewed sympathetically.

He cursed aloud and turned away from his workbench, running a hand through his hair. Soon enough he'd have that ignorant git staring at him disapprovingly right next to Moody. He cursed again at the thought.

The vials clinked in his pocket, and he drew out the antidote to the Lingering Wounds Potion, observing the periwinkle colour and feeling the sting of failure bite anew. His overconfidence had led to more difficulties. Had he proceeded cautiously he might have spared her from the awful scarring that was certain to result. He felt the ridiculous urge to crush the tiny bottle in his hand. Disappointment dug at him.

That and his odd reaction to her. Severus Snape, volunteering to fetch meals? Severus Snape, a house-elf? He could not understand the impulse that had seized him while in her room. A side effect of his dream, he supposed, and the loneliness that had gripped him this morning. Still, he felt mystified by his reaction to her, pale and emotionless on the bed. When she had spoken of hoping for a normal life again he had felt some stirrings of empathy with his guilt. To be so crippled for so many years, partially by his hand...he had felt more than his own culpability in the matter. He had felt pity as well.

He looked at the burn-healing paste again. It had cooled satisfactorily. He began to bottle it.


	49. The Vote

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

"She must have gone somewhere else," said Ron, shrugging his shoulders.

Harry looked around Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, still surprised that Hermione wasn't there. "Maybe the passageway behind the mirror?"

Ron nodded and they began to walk down the hall. "Too bad we had Quidditch practice last night," he said. "Or we could have at least talked to her about—"

"Looking for your Mudblood girlfriend, Potter?" asked Malfoy loudly, accompanied by a few of his friends.

"Out of the way, Malfoy," said Harry.

"I'd look in the kitchens," he drawled. "She's probably helping the house-elves with lunch."

"Shut it, Malfoy," said Ron, his face flushed.

Pansy smirked and hummed "Weasley is our King," and the others laughed and continued their way down the corridor.

"Let's go find Hermione," said Harry, trying to ignore the now-echoing rendition of the Slytherins' song.

Ron said nothing as they clambered up the stairs towards the fourth floor. The mirror slid aside, and they stepped into the small passageway. Hermione looked at them expectantly.

"You should have left us a note," said Harry.

"You _did_ nick the potion," said Ron in a tone that was part awe and part horror.

Harry looked at the table next to Hermione. It was set up with small bottles and a cauldron, and several books were haphazardly strewn about.

"I've been analyzing the potion sample," she said breezily, as if she had purchased it in Diagon Alley. "Last night and this morning. It's amazing."

Harry was torn between a desire to shout at her for doing something so dangerous, and curiosity at what the potion was for. Curiosity won out. "Well? What is it?"

"I don't know," she admitted. Ron looked as though he was about to say something. "I've tried everything I can think of to find out what it does, but I still don't know exactly what it is. Though perhaps..."

"What did you think it was for?" asked Harry.

She chewed on her lip for a moment. "I thought...well, I thought it was something...a Dark Magic potion. Something Tanner had asked him to brew...maybe she wants to exchange it for something from Voldemort."

"I don't think she's a threat, or in league with Voldemort," said Harry.

"I think Professor McGonagall is suspicious of her," said Hermione. "And so am I."

"Dumbledore trusts her," said Harry.

"What makes you think that she is in league with Voldemort?" asked Harry.

"When the Death Eaters abducted her, she said something about Poland. And then Ron said that she made some sort of deal with them...and now she's back at the castle! People don't just walk away from Voldemort. She had to have made some sort of...arrangement with him in person!"

"The deal she made," said Ron quietly, "was for our lives." Harry and Hermione looked at him. "She didn't want them to hurt us...she said that she would come with them voluntarily as long as they left us alone...and she said she'd hurt them if they tried to get out of the deal." He swallowed nervously.

"Oh," said Hermione, looking surprised. "I didn't know."

"You were hexed," he said.

"It still doesn't change the fact that she is a blood witch," said Hermione, though she had an expression of doubt on her face. "Professor McGonagall says that blood witches—"

"McGonagall knows?" interrupted Harry in disbelief.

"Well, yes," said Hermione. "She told Dumbledore not to hire her, that Tanner would be trouble. You wouldn't believe the stories...Tanner was right about their history. The Sanguimagi were horrible. They sacrificed animals...wizards...babies..." She shook her head. "She comes from a long line of evil, terrible wizards. We need to watch her closely."

"She hasn't made any attempt to wrap me up like a present and give me to Voldemort," said Harry hotly. "She hasn't even attempted to _talk_ to me since she gave me the amulet. She's had a month's worth of chances to do something, and she's done nothing. She could have just let them take us to the Death Eater meeting, but she didn't. Tanner isn't a threat to us...she's even teaching us defensive talismans!"

Hermione suddenly looked uncertain. "McGonagall says..."

"People said I was crazy," said Harry, anger rising. "But I'm not. Tanner isn't aligned with Voldemort. She's not evil. Just because she comes from a line of evil wizards doesn't make her evil too." He laughed humourlessly. "I'm bonded to Voldemort, the most evil wizard anywhere, but you still trust me and you're still friends with me."

Hermione bit her lip. "It's just...she's so...cold. And she...well, she just _feels_ Dark somehow."

"What made you break your promise?" Ron looked at her, mystified. "Why'd you tell McGonagall?"

"_I_ didn't tell McGonagall," said Hermione. "Besides, what we swore was that we wouldn't tell anyone her secrets. McGonagall already knew because Dumbledore told her. She told me to be careful around Tanner, and I asked why, and she told me some stories about the Sanguimagi." Her eyes strayed to the cauldron on the table, and she took a deep breath. "Well, one thing's for certain. This potion isn't Dark Magic at all."

"It isn't?" asked Ron.

"It's some sort of attractant," she said, picking up one of the bottles and examining it closely. "It has qualities that would lend it to drawing another potion, I think. I can't tell what potion it draws, or why this would be necessary." She put the potion sample back on the table. "It is quite complex, though, and some of the ingredients are frightfully rare and expensive."

"And you're certain that the greasy git brewed it for her," said Ron.

"Absolutely," she said. "We watched him make it in class once. Or at least I did. It's very complicated and I doubt more than a few wizards could brew it, honestly." She looked like she wanted to try as she stared longingly at one of the vials. "I wonder what he uses it for, or what _she_ uses it for."

"I wonder how she's paying him for it," said Ron thoughtfully.

"What?" asked Hermione, surprised.

"I mean, if it's got all of these expensive ingredients in it, how can she afford it?" he continued. "She's not well-off, from the look of her."

Harry thought back to her mended robes, and her shabby, second-hand office furniture. "Could she be trading something? Maybe she's making him an amulet in return with blood magic."

"He could really use a defensive amulet," said Hermione. "Something for when he's at Death Eater meetings...or in the Forbidden Forest..."

There was silence for a moment as they all stood, lost in thought.

"Are you going to continue working on the potion?" asked Harry finally.

She looked at the table. "No...I have a bit of research to do in the library."

"We'll join you," said Harry. "There's that Potions essay due Monday..."

Ron groaned and followed them out of the secret passageway.

* * *

Severus sat perfectly still at the table, arms crossed in front of him. He was well aware of the sour expression on his face, and refused to change it, despite the looks he had received from both Moody and Minerva. It was bad enough that he was here again, in the Black house, listening to Silas's "presentation".

It was preposterous that Silas was even _there_.

He mentally cursed Lupin again for coming up with this addled idea. The Order certainly needed new members, but to invite them to Grimmauld Place, to ask them to present their story, and ask the Order members to _vote_ on them...it was ridiculous. And to think that Lupin's first choice was Silas, of all people. It grated tremendously on Severus's few remaining nerves.

Silas, of course, was in his natural element, pontificating with elabourate hand gestures as if he was being considered for the Grand Wizengamot instead of their tiny resistance movement.

"Of course, I had to win over the students," he said grandly. "So I arranged for a half-giant to visit on the second day of class. It worked beautifully. Children are in school for the sole purpose of broadening their minds, after all, and despite the discouragement of the staff, I was determined to show them any and all magical creatures possible." He beamed at the rest of the table. "That is, of course, how the best teachers teach. By example. I take the students on field trips. I show them the Dark Arts at work in the classroom and the countryside. They need to experience everything in order to develop a proper framework within which to carefully place the various stimuli that they receive in life. The wrong teacher"—here he glanced at Severus—"brings about stress and erodes self-confidence."

If Severus noticed one more disapproving glare from Silas he wasn't going to be responsible for the hexes that would result.

"Well," said Lupin, sensing a good moment to break in, "I think you've done an excellent job in explaining your background and what you'd bring to the Order."

"Shall we vote, then?" asked Minerva, looking around.

Lupin passed around a low round tin filled with vote marbles, and each member took one. They reminded Severus of Sarah's Painstone, though smaller. He resisted the urge to look at the time, though he did need to get back as soon as possible to check on her.

"Remember, green is for yes, red is for no," said Lupin. He poked his wand at the marble in front of him, and it flashed white briefly.

Severus did the same, emphatically commanding it _red_ and hoping that everyone was doing the same.

The tin was passed around and the marbles retrieved. Lupin swirled them around once, and then pointed his wand at it, murmuring "_Aparecium_." Immediately the marbles turned red or green, depending upon the vote cast upon them.

There looked to be the same number at first, but, with growing dread, Severus watched as Lupin carefully counted them, and announced that there was one more green than red, and that Silas Marten was now a member of the Order of the Phoenix. There was a smattering of applause, and several members stood up, congratulating Silas and then making their farewells to the rest of the group as they left.

Severus sat, glowering, as Silas smiled at him triumphantly.


	50. Cured

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

**Author's Note: **A little bit of blood in this chapter...just a warning.

* * *

Sarah was sitting at her desk when the door suddenly opened. She looked up to see Severus walking through, an expression of annoyance on his face. It increased when he saw her. "What are you doing?" he asked irritably as he closed the door behind him.

"I was thinking," she said calmly, and she gestured to the twin nails in front of her, which sat upon the torn-open envelope they had been sent to her in.

"Thinking?" he frowned.

"Yes. I wanted to be certain about something." She brought her knife out and cut the back of her hand expertly, holding it above the envelope. He inhaled suddenly. Blood welled on the expensive parchment until the nails were completely covered.

She used her wand to abate the bleeding and then turned her attention back to the nails. Lightly touching the blood with the fingertips of her right hand, she exerted a small amount of power, and the room drained away. Her awareness suddenly was limited to the small pool of rich blood in front of her, teeming with energy. She applied her will to it and slowly and carefully manipulated the blood power. Picking up her wand, she used it to levitate the nails, examining them carefully. There was only the faintest glow about them.

Her other hand gripped the edge of the desk as she released the spell, letting the nails fall to the parchment.

Severus looked apprehensive, and a bit pale. "What are you doing?"

"Since your friend sent them to me, I have been worried that they might contain some latent hex," she said wearily.

"How do you know who sent them to you?" he asked warily.

"When I opened the envelope I thought I detected his peculiar scent," she said. "I recalled it from our prior encounter." She stared at the small but widening pool of blood. "Apparently my suspicions were for naught. They are unspelled, I believe. There is the faintest glimmer of magic, but it is probably residual, left from the original purposing."

"Ah." He seemed to think of something. "Why not use any of the hex detecting spells? Or—"

"Wands can be fooled," she said. "Blood is generally more honest." The room seemed to slowly be leaching itself of colour, and she realised that she was growing faint. She closed her eyes and took a few calming breaths.

"You should have stayed in bed," came his voice.

"It was difficult to attempt to sleep while thinking dire thoughts about a variety of Dark curses," she said quietly. The dizziness began to fade, and she reopened her eyes. He had made no move, and the thought occurred to her that he might be afraid, or at the very least reluctant to come closer, considering that there was a small amount of her own blood on the desktop. She spelled it away. Perhaps it seemed excessive to him that she had invoked such magic for a simple diagnostic spell, but he could not possibly understand how many different possibilities had gone through her mind as she lay in bed, and how simple it would have been for Lucius to achieve any or several of them. She stood up and began to make her way slowly into her private quarters, Severus like a dark shadow behind her.

She looked at the bed, noting its unkempt appearance. It had been a prison for her so many times in her life. After the initial incident she had spent the better portion of a year in a bed much like this, dosed with heavy pain potions, barely aware of her surroundings.

_It will be a prison no longer. _He had become the instrument of her freedom, ironic as it was. She disrobed, letting the garment slip to the floor, and carefully she arranged herself on the bed. The cool air was like a balm against the warmth that still permeated her back.

"You are nearly healed," he said, examining her closely. "I daresay that this will be the last treatment."

She rested her head on her arm. The solution he was applying hurt less than it had earlier, and she gauged the pain to be bearable without the Painstone. Eventually the burning ceased altogether, and she heard the door close as he left without a word.

* * *

There was a knocking at Severus's door. It was soft but insistent.

He cursed and pulled his robe on, cursing even more loudly as his bare feet touched the cold floor. He had not really been fully asleep, but he had been close enough that the intrusion was wholly unwelcome.

He crossed the room, building up annoyance with each step. It was the middle of the night, after all. If it was a student, there would be a tremendous price to pay, indeed. Unless it was Draco...or Nott...seeking guidance, coming to him with a fresh Dark Mark...

He pushed that thought out of his mind before it made him ill and pulled the door open.

"S-severus," gasped Sarah.

He looked at her, his annoyance melting into confusion. "What is the matter?"

"The remedy..."

He gestured impatiently for her to come in, and shut the door behind her. "What about the remedy?"

"I n-need more," she said.

He looked at her. She shook so badly that her teeth were chattering. But her eyes were the usual colour, with no hint of yellowing. "You used the entire vial?"

"Yes," she said weakly. "I ran out a few d-days ago. I d-don't understand. I thought the withdrawal was f-finished."

He surveyed her closely. "You're not going through withdrawal," he said, irritated. "You're cold."

She looked at him, bewildered. "What?"

"You are wearing a summer weight robe," he said slowly and forcefully. "You have never, to my knowledge, lit a fire in your personal rooms. It is October. You are living in a draughty castle. You are _cold_."

She looked at her shaking hands in shock. Pulling out her wand, she cast a quick Warming Charm on her robe. "I am daft," she said dazedly. "I am completely and utterly daft."

"It's entirely understandable, considering that you've carried within your body an unnatural source of heat for sixteen years and that you've only quite recently been relieved of it," he said. "I would, however, suggest that you light a fire in the immediate future..."

"Yes," she said, suddenly straightening up. "Yes, of course. I apologise for the lateness of the hour. I will not detain you further. Good night," she said as she left.

"Good night," he said quietly as he shut the door behind her. As he crawled back into bed and settled under the warm covers he realised that he was now far from sleep. His mind was whirling, thinking of Sarah. She was finally cured, he realised. The last effects of his horrible potion had been removed. He wondered if she would ever appear at his door again, and how he would feel if she did.


	51. Sunday Tea

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

"There you are, Severus," said Pomona, hurrying to match his long strides as he walked down the corridor towards the staffroom. "I've been meaning to tell you that the Snapdragons are nearing their full potency. We'll be harvesting them next week."

He nodded. "I expect the seed pods will be undamaged this time." He opened the staffroom door, once again sending private thanks that the Headmaster had removed the ridiculous gargoyle statues that Dolores had installed during her stay.

He stopped in mid-thought and stared.

Sarah was sitting at one of the tables. With Filius.

Pomona ran into him. "The students have the proper tools this—Oof!"

Severus started moving again and sat down in his accustomed chair after pouring himself a cup of tea, careful to maintain strict control and not show any of the surprise he was feeling. Pomona sat down across from him after glancing once more in Sarah's direction. Her tea stirred itself briskly.

Minerva entered the room, with much the same reaction. She stopped for a moment to openly stare at Sarah and Filius, looking faintly irritated as she sat down next to Pomona after pouring herself a cup of tea.

"You've come back from the Ministry just in time for Sunday tea," said Pomona. "That's lovely."

"Yes," said Minerva, sipping her lemony tea carefully. "Albus is still there. He sends his regards to everyone."

Pomona nodded. "He's been spending a lot of time there this term."

"Many things are brewing," said Minerva, stealing another glance at Sarah.

Pomona unfolded her enchanted greenhouse chart and began to peruse it. Tiny symbols flittered across one of the pages, moving from one side of Greenhouse Five to the other, and she frowned. "Gnomes," she muttered under her breath crossly.

"I see that you've reserved the Quidditch field for Saturday," said Minerva to Severus.

"Yes, I have," he replied. "The team needs the entire field in order to rehearse their new manoeuvres."

"Then you won't mind if I reserve the field on the next Saturday," she said. "Owing to having new Chasers."

He took a sip of his tea. "Very well." He resisted the urge to look in Sarah's direction. He could just make out Filius's voice. They were apparently discussing Charms theory.

Minerva smiled faintly. "I needn't remind you that—"

"Ah, good day, fellow instructors," said Silas jovially as he entered the room. "Sunday tea...such a lovely idea. Keeps the staff..." He stopped and stared at Sarah.

"Yes, good day," piped up Filius. "The tea is rather excellent, and Aurora has donated a few scones, seeing as she's attending that conference in Hven."

"Ah...tea, yes," he said, still looking at Sarah.

Rolanda came in. "Scones!" she exclaimed. "So Aurora did remember to leave them."

"They're quite tasty, too," said Pomona, looking up momentarily from her greenhouse map. "I particularly like the currant." Rolanda snagged a scone and a cup of tea and sat down on the couch, crossing her feet at her ankles and munching contentedly.

"I prefer raisin scones, myself," said Silas, plucking one from the basket. He poured himself a cup of tea and took a moment to add two cubes of sugar and a dash of milk. He sat down next to Minerva. "This week should be quite the thrill for the students. I have gone to some lengths to procure a suitable room in which to practice hex avoidance. A bit of physical activity is desirable for children...they need to release some energy..." He took a sip of the tea, grimaced, and gestured for a sugar cube to fly through the air into his cup. He took another sip. "Ah, yes. We will be practicing in the Great Hall..."

"All week?" asked Pomona. "Won't that be a difficulty?"

"Well, I thought it might be a bit of a real-life study," he said. "Use what you have on hand to defend yourself...you know, enchant a few tables, Transfigure a banner into something..."

"It sounds dangerous," squeaked Filius. "Aren't you afraid that some of the students will get hurt?"

"I've supervised these practices many times," said Silas breezily. "There's never been any...permanent damage. And it teaches them an important lesson in Defence." He took another sip of tea. "I usually break them into two teams, and have them appoint a leader...then they have ten minutes to come up with a plan of attack." Severus could already hear the complaints of his Slytherins. Silas had made no secret of the fact that he preferred Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. "I'll have a Floo channel open to the Infirmary just in case." He leaned back. "Several of my students have mentioned to me years later that this lesson was their favourite, and helped them immeasurably when faced with the Dark Arts in practice."

"Thank you for the conversation," said Sarah quietly to Filius. "I feel I should retire now. Good evening."

"Good evening," said Filius cheerfully.

"Leaving already?" asked Silas. "We all have just arrived. Oh, but perhaps you didn't know about our little staff teas here on Sunday. After all, you've never attended one before."

"Thank you, but I must refuse," she murmured, standing slowly. Severus watched her, noting a definite reduction in stiffness as she left, which he would add to his notes later.

"Deucedly unfriendly, isn't she?" remarked Silas to no one in particular.

"I wouldn't term it as unfriendly," piped up Filius. "She seems reserved."

Silas raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more.

* * *

Severus slowed down as he approached the door to his office. Lucius stood in front of the entrance, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Lucius," said Severus, trying not to show his bewilderment.

"May I come in?" said Lucius pointedly.

"Of course." Severus murmured a few words and the door opened, admitting them both. He closed it, careful to cast a few extra wards. "Whisky?"

"Yes," said Lucius, handing him his cloak and seating himself in one of the chairs.

Severus hung the cloak on one of the hooks and poured out a measure of Ogden's Old for both of them. His mind raced. _The potion sample, the potion sample..._the guilty thought kept surfacing despite his attempts to maintain his control. He handed Lucius a tumbler.

Lucius gulped down the drink swiftly, and Severus nearly broke out into sweats. Something most definitely was wrong. Lucius always sipped.

"I received something today," Lucius said coldly. "Something which I am quite certain originated from Hogwarts."

His blood ran cold. Lucius had been sent the potion sample. Granger? Thomas?

Nott.

The little bastard had sent Lucius the sample. He had stolen it and sent it and now everything was lost, his cover was blown, everything he had balanced so carefully was crashing down. "Hogwarts?" he said mildly, seating himself behind his desk in an attempt to buy some time.

"Yes," said Lucius. He pulled something from a pocket of his robe and flung it on the desk in front of Severus.

Severus almost laughed in relief. It was a poppet. "What..."

"This was sent to the Manor within the past hour," seethed Lucius.

Severus looked closer. Though crudely sewn, it was obviously meant to represent Lucius. A few golden threads of yarn were adhered to its head. Most tellingly, though, it was swathed in a small piece of material meant to look like a cloak which had definitely been torn from Lucius's Death Eater cloak. There was a black button in the middle of the poppet's forehead, and another where its heart would have been.

No, not buttons. Nail heads. _Merlin._ He did not have to look to know where the nails had come from.

"The horrid little bitch." Lucius got up and helped himself to more firewhisky, downing another tumbler. "I hardly believed it at first."

"Have you checked it for spells?" Severus turned it over in his hands.

"Yes," said Lucius, sitting down again irritably. "Of course. Also, a house-elf held it for some time with no effect."

"The likeness is rather poor," said Severus.

Lucius suddenly paled. "You don't think...that she means to harm Draco?"

Severus froze. He would have to proceed very carefully. "I don't think she intends any harm to him," he said neutrally.

"I will have her removed," snarled Lucius. "I will have her thrown out on the street tomorrow. Crabbe and Goyle will..."

"You know as well as I that Dumbledore will never let her go willingly," snapped Severus. "If you have her sacked, she'll simply receive the Trelawney treatment and become a further recluse. She'll disappear into the castle and we'll never see her again."

Lucius frowned. "She still has the cloak...if the Aurors were to search her room..."

It chilled him to think of the power Lucius could wield. "The cloak was tailored to fit _you_," said Severus. "It will be quite apparent that it doesn't fit her, and that it's not her cloak."

Lucius cursed and crossed the room again, filling his glass for a third time. "If only she hadn't gotten away," he growled. He returned to his seat and took a sip, grimacing at the inferior firewhisky. "I should have taken more care."

Severus arched his eyebrows in surprise. Was Lucius actually admitting to having done something wrong? "She had a surprising weapon up her sleeve," he pointed out.

"Yes..." Lucius took another sip. "You must watch her very carefully," he said, and their eyes met. There was a vulnerability in Lucius's face that Severus had rarely seen. "If she harms Draco in any way..."

"I will watch her," answered Severus honestly.

"I will kill her myself before I will let her touch my son," said Lucius grimly, and Severus knew what it cost him to say that. In some way Sarah was a pinnacle of his "art", living proof to him of his genius for pain, and he would hate to destroy her.

"She is here as a teacher," he reminded Lucius. "She owes a great debt to Dumbledore, and she will not risk his ire for anything."

"True," said Lucius thoughtfully.

They sat in companionable silence for a few more moments, until Lucius announced that he would return to the Manor. Severus saw him to the edge of the Forest, and after Lucius Apparated, he walked back to the castle and to her rooms.

Sarah was seated on the couch, reading a book. "Severus? What brings you here?" she asked calmly.

"You know very well what brings me here," he said angrily. "The package that you sent to Lucius Malfoy."

"Ah."

He realised that he should have thought this through a bit more fully. He had just burst in and told her in no uncertain terms that Lucius treated him as a confidante. "You deliberately provoked him," said Severus, deciding to continue. "That could be..._unwise_."

"He sent me the nails," she said calmly. "I sent them back."

"With some additions."

"Yes." She closed her book and laid it aside.

"That was reckless," he said, sitting down in one of the chairs. "I wonder that you felt it was necessary."

She appeared to think for a moment. "Necessary, I fear, is a subjective term."

"Subjective?"

"It varies from person to person," she answered. "What is necessary to me could quite well be superfluous to another."

"I understand the nature of the word _subjective_," he said irritably. "What I would like to understand is why it was necessary _to you_ to owl him the poppet."

"The poppet?" she asked. "You mean the fe—" She caught herself.

"The what?" he asked. "What is it?" She looked at him, her pale eyes uncertain, and shook her head. "You're not going to tell me?" he said softly.

"You are his friend," she said.

He hesitated for a moment. If there was something nefarious about the poppet, he wanted to know, to warn Lucius. Yet as odd as it seemed, he did not want to lose her trust, as new-formed and fragile as it was. "Will it harm him?"

She hesitated as well. "It will not...directly."

"It will indirectly harm him." He stared at her. "It's a fetch, isn't it."

"Yes."

"What is its purpose?"

"That I won't tell."

"But it will not harm Lucius, or his family, directly."

"No. Will you tell him?"

He struggled to reply. If he didn't tell Lucius, could he stand by and wait to see what would happen? "Yes," he said finally.

She gave the tiniest of nods. "As I should have expected."

"You are correct. He is my friend."

"What if I told you what it will do? Could you promise then not to tell him?"

"No."

"Then I am afraid that you are left in the unenviable position of trying to get the fetch away from him without explaining how you suddenly know its nature."

"I'll find a way." He frowned. "This is a dangerous game you are playing."

"What made you think it was a game?" she asked, completely serious. "I am not certain that you fully appreciate my position. Lucius has made it his goal to possess me. When he finally catches up to me again I will need all the advantages that I can possibly arrange."

"You can't be certain that you will meet him again," he protested weakly.


	52. Retrieving the Fetch

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

The door knocker was extremely irritable, and only Severus's threat of hexing it with the Reductor Curse convinced it to alert the Malfoys to his presence on their step.

Narcissa answered the door, and her expression was wary.

"I need to see Lucius," he said.

"He is...indisposed," she answered quietly.

"It is urgent."

She looked at him for a moment, her grey eyes uncertain. "He's not himself at the moment."

"I must speak to him," said Severus. "He could be in danger."

She looked at him appraisingly. "Follow me."

He entered, ignoring the angry mutterings of the door knocker. Narcissa took him through the mansion, passing countless dark rooms and empty hallways. Eventually they stood before the door of Lucius's private study.

Narcissa looked as if she wanted to say something more, but instead gestured towards the door, which opened.

He entered the cheerily lit room. When he looked back Narcissa had already disappeared, closing the door behind her.

"Severus?" slurred Lucius.

"Yes."

Lucius was sprawled gracelessly on the elegant sofa facing the fireplace. "Why are you here?"

"I came because I was concerned," said Severus. "I've researched the poppet...I think it might be a fetch."

"A what?"

"A fetch," he explained as calmly as he was able. "I can't be certain without examining it further. Do you still have it?"

"On my desk." He waved in the desk's direction. A few empty bottles of whisky lolled on the usually meticulously clean surface.

Severus picked up the poppet. The feel of the cloak on his fingers reminded him of old deeds better left unremembered, and he pocketed the doll. "I'll just be going then."

"Going? But you have only just arrived," said Lucius, watching him, his eyes glassy.

"I need to examine this poppet, Lucius," said Severus. Lucius frowned, and Severus tried to maintain calm. He needed to get the fetch away from Lucius.

"I really doubt that it contains any sort of threat."

"I am going to see if it contains any residual spells."

"There is nothing dangerous about that poppet," said Lucius, and he began to laugh.

"I think there might be...I think it is a fetch."

Lucius laughed even harder at that. When he could speak again he said, "That is no fetch. Sarah could not create something like that. Besides, I held it, and nothing has happened."

Severus chose his words carefully. "I have heard that it is possible to create a latent fetch. I think that this could be one. She is quite capable; you've seen her handiwork in action already."

"Ah, the nails," said Lucius thoughtfully. "I wasn't aware that she had made those herself. I assumed that she stole them..." He trailed off, looking sleepy.

Severus cursed himself. He had just given information away, information that could look suspicious. "You don't think she made them? Sixteen years is long enough to accumulate the time and energy required for such an ambitious project."

Lucius seemed to think for a moment. "True." He blinked a few times, and looked irritated suddenly. "Oh, take the blasted thing."

"Good evening, Lucius," murmured Severus as he left. There was no reply.

* * *

There was a knock at her office door, and Sarah gestured, opening it, wondering who it could be. It was fairly late, nearing curfew, and she couldn't imagine that any of the teachers would be calling on her. No doubt Severus had already stormed off to Malfoy Manor to reacquire the fetch, though it was far too late for that.

To Sarah's surprise, Hermione Granger was at her door. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

The girl closed the door behind her and sat down in one of the chairs. "Professor Tanner," she began. She appeared confident, but Sarah could see a bit of nervousness in the way the girl clutched the arms of the chair. "I have been thinking recently."

"Really," said Sarah neutrally.

The girl blushed faintly for a moment. "Yes. Ron told me what you did when we were nearly abducted by Death Eaters. And I know other things as well."

"Other things?"

"You're hiding from him," she said.

"Hiding from whom?"

"Voldemort. I think that he wants your knowledge of blood magic. He knows some blood magic himself. That's why you were so unwilling to leave Hogwarts. That's why the Death Eaters tried to take you. They even ignored Harry because you were so important to them." She took a breath and released it. "I was hoping that you would help me."

"Help you?" said Sarah slowly. "I'm not following this, I'm afraid."

"I would like you to teach me blood magic," said the girl determinedly.

Sarah stared at her. "I don't know where you developed this idea, but it is an entirely foolish one."

"I think if you examine it fully, it really isn't," she said. "Voldemort has used blood magic to protect himself, and he clearly knows the basics. Harry is going to need help if he's to defeat him."

"If Harry needs help, why isn't he here asking me to teach him, instead of you?"

"He has enough to worry about," she said quickly. "If I learn it, I can show him the spells he'll need, and cast some of the more complicated ones myself." The girl had a stubborn look to her face that Sarah did not entirely like.

"I believe that I've explained before that blood magic is a hereditary talent."

"You also said that the basic spells could be learned by anyone."

"True, but most of them will be of little use to you in your cause."

"Sometimes the least spell can have the greatest effect."

"No," said Sarah. "I will not teach you blood magic."

"This could mean the difference in Harry's life—and the defeat of Voldemort!" she burst out.

"I doubt that highly," she replied evenly. "What little advantage it would afford would not be worth the time and effort expended in learning it."

"I disagree," she said, obviously frustrated. "Any advantage would make it worthwhile. Show me how to use it, and I know I'll be able to apply it to good use!"

"No," said Sarah firmly. "There is no reason for me to teach you anything but Talismans."

"Harry's _life_ isn't reason enough?" She was shocked. "The defeat of Voldemort isn't enough? How can you decide to do nothing when the entire Wizarding world is threatened, and know that innocent people might be hurt because you won't take the time to teach us?"

Sarah stared at her. "What gives you the right to assume such things of me, and judge me in this manner?"

"You have the power to change things," she said hotly. "By helping Harry, you will be helping to overthrow Voldemort, and we can be at peace again."

"You cannot believe that this Dark Lord is the only Dark Lord and will be the only Dark Lord ever," said Sarah slowly and forcefully. "Peace does not last forever. There will always be some Dark individual who covets power and violence." She drew a calming breath. "Helping Mr. Potter does not immediately translate to peace in the Wizarding world either, I am afraid. Mr. Potter will have to succeed or fail on his own internal merits. Blood magic will not make a difference."

Miss Granger looked pale. "I have friends in the publishing world who will be quite interested to hear that there is a Sanguimagus at Hogwarts..."

"What is this?" demanded Sarah, and she could feel the warm hand of anger gripping her heart. "Are you _threatening_ me?"

The girl's determination was beginning to erode. "I need to help protect Harry," she said, distraught.

"Take these foolish notions out of your head," said Sarah slowly and dangerously. "Blood magic is nearly gone from this world, and that is a _good_ thing, believe me. This Dark Lord may know a few things, but he doesn't know anything that you can't counter yourself with a wand. As for attempting to _blackmail_ an instructor..." Sarah fixed her with the most intense gaze that she could muster. "Do not dare to even _think_ to try that again."

Miss Granger flushed bright red. "If you would only _listen—_"

"Have you even fully considered what would happen to the Headmaster if his unconventional hiring came under scrutiny again?" said Sarah coldly. "And what do you think would happen if I were to be forced to leave Hogwarts? The Dark Lord would be glad to hear of it. You need to think of the full consequences of your actions. I will not be reporting this matter to the Headmaster, considering that your goal apparently was to protect the well-being of your friend. In the future I would suggest that you take more care."

She looked utterly miserable and yet completely stubborn. "Voldemort used blood magic to keep himself alive—to turn himself into a spirit—he protected himself against the Killing Curse! You're the only person in the world who would know how he did this. You're the only one who can help."

Sarah gazed at her levelly. "Do you think I am an expert in the ways of blood magic? Do you think I am a tremendously powerful Sanguimagus, with perfect knowledge of all its traditions and pitfalls? I feel that I must correct your ignorance in this matter. I have only studied the matter for a scant fifteen years. Certainly you must understand that in the lives of wizards that is a very short time. I am also not a Pureblood Sanguimagus, and therefore I will never reach the full potential of a blood witch. Yes, I have my own areas of expertise and research, but I can tell you with reasonable impunity that I will have little insight into the Dark Lord's methods. The Headmaster would be of much greater use to you." She narrowed her eyes. "Perhaps he will be equally impressed with your _publishing friends._"

Miss Granger opened her mouth and closed it again with a snap. "I—"

"Good evening," said Sarah, waving her wand to open the door pointedly.

Still she attempted to argue. "You can't—"

"Miss Granger," she said in a freezing tone. "Though they may sometimes appear trivial when we make them, our choices define us, for good or for ill. You have already made one poor choice in our conversation. Do not compound the issue by making another."

The girl ran out of the office. The door shut behind her, and Sarah stared at it, her mind wondering at the gall of Miss Granger. Truly the sixth year was brilliant, strong-willed, brave beyond measure, but if she didn't pay heed and take more care she would end up on the wrong side. _Blackmail_, she thought grimly. _I wonder where she picked up that idea._

She remembered being that age, determined to make her mark on the world, flushed with the possibilities, practicing Charms with a single-minded devotion.

She thought of her own poor choices in life, and the Dark mistakes that she had made, and wished for just a moment that she could show Miss Granger even a fraction of the cruelty of Fate.

_Would I have done differently had I been shown the same?_ she thought, and frowned.


	53. Conversations

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Harry looked up from his plate and watched as Hermione paged through a very large and dusty book. _Just like her to bring something like that to lunch_, he thought. She had a look of deep concentration on her face.

"I can't remember anything about the properties of moonstones," said Ginny, rubbing her eyes. "This is the worst assignment ever!"

Hermione didn't respond, but Neville looked glum.

Ron stared at the Head Table for a long moment. "This is the week for those 'Hex Avoidance' classes Marten's on about," he said, his attention back to the tray of tarts in front of him.

"Yes," said Harry, with a strange sense of satisfaction. "It'll be us against the Slytherins."

"I hope I get a chance to curse Malfoy," said Ron grimly.

"I hate moonstones!" said Ginny emphatically, scribbling madly.

Lunch finished, the three watched as the rest of the students in the hall rushed off to their classes. They made their way to the mirror in the fourth floor corridor. Hermione hadn't cleaned up yet; the few cauldrons she'd left were still bubbling, and the samples were exactly where they had been left. She put the book down on the table. Harry noticed that its title was _Olde_ _and Forgotten Potions and Antidotes_.

"I spoke with Professor Tanner yesterday," she said. Ron's eyebrows shot up. "I've been thinking about what Ron said about her abduction, and I've come to the conclusion that I had the wrong idea about her."

"The wrong idea...?" said Harry, relieved yet surprised.

"I still think that she is dangerous, but I don't think she's a threat to Harry," she continued. "As awful as blood magic is, I think it may be useful against Voldemort. I think that he used blood magic himself, both to survive the Killing Curse and to regenerate himself."

"So Tanner might know a way to hurt him, then," said Harry thoughtfully.

"Exactly." She looked triumphant. "I asked her to help us—"

"Hang on!" interrupted Ron. "After the rollicking you gave me for asking her to host the DA, you go and—"

"I asked her and she said no," continued Hermione, as if Ron hadn't said a thing. He flushed and looked angry. "But we have to convince her to help us. There must be some way to get her to teach us Blood Magic."

"What?" asked Harry, confused. "Why do _we_ need to know blood magic?"

"We need every advantage we can get," said Hermione impatiently. "He's shielded somehow, protected against the Killing Curse. I think he knows how to use it, and I think it will help us figure out his weakness."

"Oh," said Harry.

"I don't want to know blood magic," declared Ron.

"Then _I'll_ learn it," said Hermione with a touch of exasperation. "Tanner has to show us."

"I don't think she will," argued Harry. "She didn't even want us to know that she was a Sanguimagus, let alone give us a lesson in it."

"Did you hear something?" frowned Ron, moving closer to the back of the mirror. He listened for a moment.

Hermione looked horrified. "I forgot to cast the Anti-Eavesdropping Charm..."

Ron opened the mirror and peered out into the hall.

Harry could just make out the sound of receding footsteps. "Do you think they heard us?"

"I dunno," said Ron, looking worried.

* * *

Monday went by quickly in a flurry of exploding cauldrons, hasty meals in the Great Hall, and a fruitless interrogation of Nott. The evening was cool and still, and Severus marked the last essay with a feeling of relief, putting aside his quill and stoppering the red ink.

He stared at the poppet on his desk, wondering anew at its purpose. Crude yet effective, the little fetch stared up at him blankly. He grimaced and rubbed his eyes. What could Sarah possibly be thinking? Despite his recent incarceration, Lucius remained nearly as powerful as always, and Sarah's risky actions could have repercussions that might cause problems for the Order, or even for himself.

The journal in which he had recorded the progress of his experimental potion caught his eye, and he could not help but feel a pang of guilt at the nasty turn his antidote had taken. Which made him remember that he had not finished the last entry. He looked at the poppet again, thinking. Perhaps he could kill two birds with one stone. He stood up and made his way to her rooms.

The door to Sarah's office was open, and he entered, closing it behind him.

She stared into the fire, a pensive look upon her face.

"Is something the matter?" he asked.

She blinked a few times, turning to face him. She seemed to hesitate, as if weighing something on an invisible scale. "Hermione Granger came to speak with me yesterday," she said slowly. "She attempted to blackmail me."

Severus sat down in the nearest chair. "Granger?"

"Yes," she said, looking troubled.

"Have you gone to the Headmaster?"

"No." She seemed to hesitate again. "Actually, I am uncertain as to how to proceed."

"Speaking to the Headmaster would be the logical course."

"Yes, in most situations..."

"What makes you think that this is an exception?" he asked, mystified.

"There are repercussions to consider," she said quietly. "She said she would reveal that I am a Sanguimagus to her friends in the publishing industry." She stared again at the fireplace. "She seems willing to do nearly anything to achieve her ends."

"You can't possibly mean to let the little know-it-all get away with it," he said, beginning to feel angry.

"And what would you have me do?" She turned to look at him once more, and he could feel a conflict within her that was deeper than she had revealed. "It is _my_ word against hers, after all; and I would have to reveal that she wished for me to tutor her in blood magic, and that her threat involved revealing that I am a Sanguimagus. I would hang myself with my own rope."

"How does she know you are a Sanguimagus?" he asked suddenly.

"I told her," she said reluctantly. "They—Granger, the Weasley boy, and Potter—witnessed me performing a small piece of blood magic in a corridor. I thought that they were to be trusted, especially considering what esteem the Headmaster holds them in."

"You should have performed a Memory Charm," he said angrily. "You could not have behaved more foolishly."

"I am not so accomplished in Memory Charms as to be able to cast them upon three students several yards away simultaneously."

"I can't believe that you put this secret in their hands."

"It seemed like the logical course at the time."

"What will you do now?" he asked coldly. Yet again a Gryffindor was caught, red-handed, and suffered no consequences. Anger welled up within him.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I tried to use reason. She did seem to be somewhat repentant at the end. She thinks that this magic holds some sort of key, that it will somehow form the basis for the Dark Lord's defeat."

The anger dissipated suddenly as he digested what she had just said. "Do you think that blood magic could be harmful to the Dark Lord?" he asked cautiously.

She frowned. "It isn't as simple as that. Certainly it is powerful in its own way. But my knowledge and ability are too limited to be of much use against a wizard as powerful as the Dark Lord." She paused for a moment, thinking. "I can't imagine that anything I know would have an advantage over him. I know only vaguely the magic that he presumably used to thwart the Killing Curse. I've told the Headmaster anything that could possibly be of use to him. And I explained to Granger that nothing I could teach her would be of use. In fact I truly think that it would hinder her practical studies and waste her time. But she seems to want to seek danger out. Actively, I might add."

"Potter draws danger to himself like drapes draw doxies. The Granger girl, no doubt, is caught up in the same reckless attitude."

Sarah closed her eyes. "She cannot see the consequences. She has no idea where this path could take her."

"They are quite immune to consequences," said Severus bitterly.

"Perhaps for now," she said softly. "It will not always be so." She reopened her eyes suddenly and seemed to gain back her usual composure. "What was it that brought you to my office?"

"I wish to finish my notes regarding the antidote I developed," he said.

"What is it you require from me?" she asked.

"I will need to see the wounds again," he said, feeling sudden warmth suffuse his face. "I have also brought a salve which might reduce some of the scarring."

"Very well," she said, standing up and walking towards her bedroom. She still moved in a rather reserved way, though more quickly than before. She began to pull off her robe, and he noticed that she was still using primarily her right arm. She wore two sets of lightweight robes, which accounted for the rather lumpy appearance of the fabric.

His eye fell on the fire in her room, which stood untended. "When was the last time you checked this?" he exclaimed.

"The fire?" she asked, confused. "This morning, perhaps."

He waved his wand quickly, and the fire sprang up anew. "I would advise keeping a more careful eye on it, or letting the house-elves know." She still seemed confused. "Obviously you have forgotten about Ashwinders," he said, opening his journal and laying it on the table. He set his auto-quill on the page, and it perched gracefully, awaiting his dictation.

"Ashwinders? Oh, the fire snakes," she said in sudden recognition. "Yes, I had forgotten entirely about them. I will mention it to Dobby."

He began to scrutinise each scar in turn, using a healing potion to take care of the few that were still bleeding. The scarring was not quite as terrible as he had feared it might be, and he felt a sense of relief as he began to apply the Scar-Reducing Salve. "Have you noticed anything unusual since the last application?"

"No," she said quietly.

"A few of the cuts were not completely healed."

"Yes."

"You should have let me know."

"They have almost healed on their own."

He finished treating the last scar. "The salve seems to be working," he said. "It won't make much of a difference in their appearance, but it should help with their flexibility." She did not respond. He spoke to the Auto-quill in a low voice, recording all he had done so far. When he finished he spelled his hands clean and stoppered the bottles, placing them in a pocket. "Have you decided what to do about Granger?" he asked, and he could not keep the edge out of his voice.

"She does not understand," she said wearily. "She thinks that she is helping her friends. She is completely convinced that blood magic will somehow save them or protect them."

Many thoughts crowded his mind. "Have a care," he said softly. "They are more dangerous than you think, those three. Despite the protections lavished upon them they deliberately put themselves in danger time and time again. All of the sacrifices of others to keep them safe mean nothing to them. They continually pry into things best left hidden." He took a deep breath. "I believe that Granger may have absconded with some of the antidote."

She looked up at him. "How do you know?"

"I left the potion on the burner for a few extra days to monitor its stability," he said. "During class there was a distraction, and the only students left in the room were Nott, Granger, and Thomas. I took Nott aside today and questioned him. He had nothing to do with the theft. Of the two remaining, Granger is by far the nosiest. Thomas could have done it as a senseless prank, perhaps, but I don't believe so."

"How can you be certain that Nott was innocent?"

"I know my students very well," he said smoothly, "especially my Slytherins."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she dropped the subject. "Why would she require a sample of the antidote?"

"You don't seem to grasp their nature," he sneered. "Since they have arrived, they have left no stone unturned in their continual quest to flaunt authority and break rules. I have brewed it before in an earlier class, and curiosity must have gotten the better of Granger."

Sarah was silent for a moment, absorbing the information. "Will she deduce the potion's purpose? Will she be able to understand or recreate what it was created to cure?"

"She might be able to understand its binding properties, but I would be surprised if she guessed at the original potion. To recreate the Lingering Wounds Potion would require skills far in advance of hers, as well as an ingredient that is all but impossible to obtain."

"You obtained it."

"I had...access to a well-stocked storeroom at that time. I depleted its supply, and it isn't likely that anyone else will have such an ingredient." She seemed satisfied with that, and he continued. "Nott would have been the greater threat."

"His father is a Death Eater," she said softly.

"Yes," he said, surprised.

"He watched for a moment as Crabbe and Goyle...prepared me for my audience for the Dark Lord," she said, a faint frown appearing. "Crabbe called him by name."

"His son might not have known what it is, but if he had sent it to his father..." He repressed the urge to shiver. "There are other potion brewers who could analyse it, and that would have created a difficult situation. Tomorrow I will find out from Granger what she has done with it."

"You don't think that Thomas is involved?"

"Granger seems the most likely suspect."

"I think," she said slowly, "that it is time for another talk. A more serious one than I had intended."

"You think _talking_ will have an effect upon her?" said Severus, trying to remain calm. "I have taught them for five years, and I can testify to you that talking has absolutely no effect at all."

"I will appeal to her intellect," she said. "I think that I may still be able to reach her. If I can impress upon her the gravity of the situation..."

"You may as well tell the statute of Phaedrus," he spat. "At least you'd hear a song in return. You will do nothing except hand her more weapons with which to harm you."

"I have little choice in the matter, I think."

He stood for a moment, staring at her, the heat of his anger boiling. Firelight lit her too-thin body, her eyes reflecting the flames. "Your gamble is too dangerous. Inform the Headmaster of her behaviour and be done with it," he said softly.

"I will tell him," she said simply. "But I will also speak to her. There is still a chance that I can make her understand where her path is leading."

"She can't," he said angrily. "All three of them are far too reckless. Granger has the most brains of the three, but she still is a foolish, stubborn girl."

"If I were to explain blood magic to her...in its simplest terms..." She closed her eyes. "I think she would finally see that it would be of no use to her."

"I would strongly advise against it." He scowled at her. "If you still insist upon this course of action, then you had better arrange your little chat soon, because she will be serving detentions for most of the foreseeable future once I wring the truth from her."

"Very well."

He strode out of the room, irritated.


	54. Called into the Office

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

"Granger," said Severus, sitting down behind his desk. "Do you know why I've called you here?" He fixed her with a cold look. Thomas had been honestly clueless when he'd been interrogated earlier about the missing bit of potion, and Severus felt smug in the knowledge that very soon he would have the upper hand.

"No, sir," she said, and a faint flush appeared on her cheeks.

"Do you recall last week's...incident in class? A skating rink in the hall?" He kept his eyes locked to hers.

"Yes, sir," she said quietly.

"I began to think...why would someone disrupt my class, and to what end?" he said softly. "I examined the room, and I realised that someone had tampered with a potion that I was brewing. She had apparently stolen a sample of it." He gave her a moment to digest the implications.

She sat perfectly still. He could sense her agitation and her stubbornness perfectly. Still she made no reply.

"Perhaps she was curious...she saw the expensive ingredients used to produce it...or perhaps she suspected something untoward," he continued. He saw a flicker of something in her eyes. "Perhaps she assumed it was a personal grooming aid that might benefit jrt. She arranged for a distraction, and while the class was engaged with gawking, she quietly bottled a small amount for her own devices."

"What exactly are you saying?" said Granger, but there was a breathless quality to her voice that nearly made him smirk.

"I am saying that _you_, Granger, stole a sample of a potion from my classroom after arranging a suitable distraction." He glared at her.

To her credit, she did not react to the bait. She sat still for a moment, her eyes guarded. "Shouldn't Professor McGonagall be present?" she asked.

Anger filled him. Certainly she was clever. He had not, in fact, called Minerva about this little interview, nor for Thomas's, for the simple fact that he had not wanted to involve the Gryffindor Head of House in the proceedings. In fact there was little he could do in the situation, despite the feeling of triumph in finally catching the perfect student misbehaving. He might be able to force her into a detention or two, but any measures beyond that would require full disclosure of the matter, and he had no desire to risk his employment or cause further scrutiny by the Ministry. Nott's interrogation had been very vague by necessity. Granger's was easier, because she was not Slytherin and had no ties to Death Eaters, but he still needed to proceed carefully. "Should we involve your Head of House?" he asked. "Have you done something to necessitate it?" She paled, and he felt a surge of triumph. "Where is the potion sample now?" he asked in a menacing tone.

She hesitated for a moment. "I have no idea," she said, and he was absolutely stunned to see that she was telling the truth.

"You don't know?" he asked incredulously.

"I have no sample of any potion," she said, and again it was true.

_What game is this?_ he thought, thunderstruck. He was quiet for a moment. _One of them had to have stolen the potion. Unless it was Silas after all..._His attention returned to Granger, who still looked flustered, but defiant. "You seem to think yourself above the rules," he said angrily. "I am warning you, Granger..."

There was a knocking at the door, and Minerva suddenly emerged, the Weasley boy looking smug behind her in the hallway. "Severus," she said. "Is there a problem?"

"Granger and I were discussing recent events," he said, nearly hissing in frustration. "We have only now just finished."

"It's time for dinner, Severus," said Minerva. "Come along, Miss Granger." The girl stood up and obediently followed the Transfiguration professor, pausing for one nervous backward glance.

He glowered as they left. He was no closer to finding the truth. If Silas had the potion sample there was no telling the damage he could do. And there was still the matter of Granger attempting to blackmail Sarah, which infuriated him. He rubbed his eyes. This was getting out of hand.

* * *

The auto-quill scribbled a note obediently on the parchment, and Sarah went to the next. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the Granger girl staring at her, biting her lip, and Sarah frowned slightly. They were supposed to be practicing the Patronus Charm, according to Potter, but the girl had simply performed the charm perfectly once and then spent the next hour looking worried.

The DA meeting came to a conclusion, and the students began to move the desks back into place, talking rather animatedly about a Defence lesson taking place the next morning. Eventually everything was back where it belonged and they filed out, leaving Potter, Granger and the Weasley boy.

"I was wondering," began Granger hesitatingly, "if you'd reconsidered."

Sarah looked at the two boys. "Miss Granger and I have something to discuss," she said. "Privately."

They looked confused, and glancing back at Granger, but eventually the boys left, Weasley frowning as he looked over his shoulder back at her.

"Have you changed your mind?" asked the girl.

"Let's go into my office," said Sarah. Granger obediently sat down on a chair while Sarah closed the doors and whispered a few Anti-Eavesdropping charms. She sat down behind her desk. "A day's reflection," she began, "has only fortified my original decision."

"But..."

"Yes?"

"Professor Tanner, this information could be crucial," she said determinedly. "Voldemort is a danger that affects us all."

Sarah regarded the girl carefully. It was obvious that her genius was only matched by her stubbornness. "Miss Granger..."

"If you would just teach me, I can find a way to help Harry destroy Voldemort," she said earnestly. "The knowledge doesn't have to die out."

Sarah could feel her anger rising. "You are brilliant, yes," she said, keeping her voice calm. "But you lack perspective."

She flushed. "I know I can do something with it."

"Are you implying that I am doing nothing with it?" said Sarah coldly. "Your friend benefits from wearing his amulet, does he not?"

"Yes, but—"

"You think that magic is controllable," said Sarah, locking eyes with the girl. "You think that everything can be studied, researched, and known. You haven't learned that there are some things best left alone."

There was an almost defiant look on her face. "If you aren't going to help, then you need to teach someone who can."

"As I have said before," said Sarah, as calmly as she could, "there is no immediate proof that knowing blood magic will have any discernable effect. I would, in fact, argue to the contrary."

"I think that you're overlooking aspects of it," said Granger stubbornly. "The protections that Voldemort has invoked—"

"It must be that you think yourself the equal, or the superior, of nearly all wizards. There is no other reason for you to persist in this ridiculous idea. I have already informed you that Dumbledore has been apprised of the various applications of blood magic, and has decided against its use, excepting Mr. Potter's amulet."

"But he's so very busy. He might not see every use."

"Do you even comprehend the source of blood magic?" Her anger surfaced. "Do you understand where a Sanguimagus's power comes from? Are you so eager to destroy living things simply to glean a bit of information that might or might not make a difference? Because that is where it comes from. Living beings."

"You can use your own blood," she said immediately.

"Few Sanguimagi have had to resort to such tactics," said Sarah coldly. "Salazar Slytherin almost never touched a drop of his own blood. He made do with others'. Certainly your own blood is the strongest, but it isn't advisable to use it exclusively if you are actively practicing."

"I could make a Blood-Replenishing Potion. There's always Strengthening Solution—"

"No!" said Sarah, more vehemently than she had intended. The girl looked at her, surprised. Sarah took a calming breath. "I want you to listen to me for a moment," she said, still saddened by the stubborn look on Granger's face. "Just listen. I will tell you a little of blood magic's history, and I hope that you will begin to understand it more fully, and see that it is of little use to you.

"When Salazar began his war, he was overconfident. He was arrogant. He expected a quick victory, given how deadly blood magic can be. He made several mistakes. He underestimated the Magi. He thought that blood magic could stand against their wands and come out victorious. He was wrong, for various reasons, and realised this within the first month of fighting.

"He was an intelligent man, and he changed his strategy, setting his most brilliant Sanguimagi to develop a new spell that would overcome the enemy. At the same time, he began to employ less honourable tactics in battle. Some of the Sanguimagi did not approve of Salazar's new techniques, but they were all duty-bound to support him now, as there was little hope of leniency should they turn themselves in. So Salazar continued, abducting witches and wizards, sacrificing anyone they could to add to their power.

"After another month of research a new, powerful blood magic hex was created, something which nearly all of the blood witches and wizards could use, something devastating. He drew everyone together and demonstrated the spell over and over again with kidnapped Magi and their kin until everyone could perform the hex flawlessly.

"He knew that there was a Wizengamot taking place, and he knew that if he could strike at the heart of their leaders and elders he would win a decisive victory against them.

"There was one problem, and that was blood. Each Sanguimagus needed a source, but it wasn't realistic for each of them to bring a sacrifice. One of his trusted wizards mentioned that, since there would be little risk of reprisal after the hex was released, they should use their own this once.

"Salazar thought long about this idea, and eventually decided that it was a gamble, but worth it. It would be too difficult to coordinate the use of sacrifices at the moment. So they all began to prepare for the attack.

"There was one blood witch among them, a brilliant and passionate witch, who had fallen in love with a Magus, and she was troubled. She went to her love the night before and told him not to go to the Wizengamot the next day. He wanted to know why, yet she was loathe to tell him. In the end her great love for him won out, and she showed him the counter-curse that she had developed so that he would live. When Salazar emerged victorious, she would sue Salazar for the Magus, and he would no doubt give her love to her in appreciation. The Magus agreed.

"Yet after she left he agonised over the information that he had been given. He stayed awake, doubt and fear tearing at him. In the end he could not sentence his family and friends to the agonising death that the Sanguimagi had prepared for them, no matter how deep his love for her. In the night he stole away and went to the Chief Warlock and explained to him what was to happen. They had only precious few hours left, but they spent them well, teaching the blood witch's counter-curse to all the Wizengamot.

"The Sanguimagi came to the Wizengamot in what they thought was great secrecy, and began the harnessing of power, little knowing that they had been betrayed so grievously. They approached and cast their hex. It rebounded off harmlessly, and many of the Sanguimagi were killed by their own spell. The rest, weakened by their use of blood, had no time to recover. Some mounted a second attack, but the battle was short. Few escaped to practice blood magic again.

"The blood witch knew what had happened. She miraculously escaped her spell's rebound, and aided in the second wave. By some coincidence she found her lover alone on the ground; he was dying. She knew he was the betrayer, the source from which the destruction of the Sanguimagi had issued, yet her heart was moved by pity; she could not forget their love. So she summoned up the strongest spell she knew, and used three drops of her own blood to save him, killing herself in the process."

Sarah stared at her grimly. "There are choices in life. The choices of a Magi are simple. The choice to cast an Unforgiveable; the choice to cast a lesser spell instead." She paused, hoping that the girl would hear her and understand. "The choices of a Sanguimagi are not simple. For every spell we work, someone or something else is inevitably lessened, or destroyed. It is a terrible thing to use the essence of others to create the things we crave or destroy the things we hate. To sacrifice another for your own benefit...it is a monstrous work, one which lies heavily upon you forever.

"Could you, to save Harry, sacrifice yourself?" The girl looked hesitant, but Sarah could see clearly in her eyes her loyalty, and knew that if she had to she might make that choice. Sarah leaned forward. "Could you kill Ron? Could you set your knife upon his neck and bleed him dry? What if he is unwilling? Could you Petrify him and know that he is watching you drain his blood as he breathes his last?"

"No..." said Granger in horror. She was white as a sheet.

"Then," said Sarah slowly and deliberately, "you should not dabble in blood magic."

There was a long pause as Granger fought against her emotions, trying to control herself. Sarah remained still and quiet, hoping that her words would have the desired effect.

Eventually she looked up at her. "I think..." Her voice trailed off in doubt.

"You are a clever girl," said Sarah simply. "You are brave, and talented. Please believe me when I say that learning blood magic will only cause problems instead of solve them."

She nodded, though with a trace of reluctance. "Thank you, Professor Tanner," she said quietly as she picked up her book bag and left.

"Good night, Miss Granger," said Sarah. After the door closed she sat for a long time, lost in thought.


	55. A Cup of Tea

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Sarah woke from the dream into the dark of the night, rubbing her eyes groggily.

She stared at the fireplace. The view was odd, until she realised that she was sleeping on her left side, something she hadn't done in years. She yawned and stretched, noting the unfamiliar sensations. It was not even four in the morning yet, but there was no chance that she'd be able to get back to sleep; she felt wide awake.

A look in her wardrobe revealed the sad truth, that she only owned summer robes. The lightweight fabric felt thin under her fingertips. She had drawn a bit of her salary, hoping to purchase a winter robe...and then had been told of the necessity of a dress robe for the Halloween feast.

A dress robe. A waste of good money. She'd never be able to use it if she had to run again. At least the winter robe would have been useful.

Of course, this still left the difficulty of purchasing anything at all. Robes needed to be fitted, and she couldn't leave Hogwarts, after all. She didn't dare Floo to Madam Malkin's. And there was only a month left for her to take care of the situation.

Slipping on two sets of robes, she checked the fire briefly and then left.

Hogwarts was cool and silent. Not even the ghosts were about. She had no real idea where she was going; she only wanted to take advantage of her new freedom.

Her soft footsteps barely made a sound. The staircases were still. She roamed past slumbering portraits, quiescent tapestries, quiet hallways. The castle seemed to be sleeping. She walked up steps and down halls, past towers and windows and dark alcoves.

She came to a dusty corridor. One of the doors was agape.

She stopped and looked. "_Lumos_," she whispered, and her wand emitted a cold, blue-tinted light. Putting her other hand on the door, she pushed the rough wood until it opened fully.

The room was full of odd things. Statues of varying heights and sizes, empty frames stacked high, mouldering musical instruments, bits and pieces of armor...it was obviously a storeroom of sorts. Sarah looked around and shivered a little.

There was a window at one end of the room, covered in grime. "_Scourgify_," she said, and one of the panes suddenly became clean. "_Nox_," she said, letting the light from her wand die away. She looked outside.

The graveyard was below, lit by the pink blush of pre-dawn. She stood still, watching the day slowly grow brighter. She touched the cold glass of the window. Somewhere Lucius Malfoy waited for her to slip up. Somewhere the Dark Lord waited as well. _Trapped_, she thought to herself. For a moment longer she remained, wondering how the game would play out.

Turning back to the abandoned items in the room, her gaze fell upon one of the statues. She looked at it closely. _This could be exactly what I'm looking for. _Making a mental note of the location of the storeroom, she stepped back out into the corridor.

Hungry, she made her way to the Great Hall. Pomona was there, reading an early edition of the _Prophet_. "Good morning, Sarah," she said.

"Good morning, Pomona," she replied, sitting down at her accustomed spot. Filling her bowl with porridge, she began to eat.

A trio of Ravenclaws entered, dropping their books on the table so that they could study while they ate. Sarah watched for a moment, remembering doing the same thing at their age. She, too, had known the inside of the library far better than the Quidditch field.

Her eye was caught by a familiar black shape. Severus neared the head table, a look of fatigue on his face. He sat down, giving her a nod, but his eyes lingered for a moment longer than necessary.

She nodded back, and finished the last spoonful of porridge. She pushed the bowl away. It clinked against a teapot.

Tea.

It had been at least two months since she'd had a cup of tea. She hesitated for a moment, and then reached out and fingered the handle. A moment later she was cradling the cup in both hands, inhaling the steam, her eyes closed. The warmth seeped through her fingers. She raised the cup to her lips and sipped the hot liquid, sighing in relief, thinking only of the lovely, familiar taste.

She set down the cup and reopened her eyes. The Ravenclaw girls were still engrossed in their books, and four Hufflepuffs were now seated at their house table.

Then she noticed that Severus was openly staring at her.

She turned to look at him, but, surprisingly, he didn't turn away. His eyes were dark and she could not interpret the intense expression on his face. The moment lengthened. She felt as if he was drawing something out of her.

"Good morning!" boomed Silas as he pulled out his chair and sat down in between them, breaking their eye contact. "Early, I see! Excellent, excellent. It's about time you decided to improve your work ethic."

Sarah looked at the ginger-haired man. "Pardon me?"

"Being punctual is an important part of being a role model for your students," he said, pouring himself a cup of tea. "I can't help but notice that you've been late to nearly every breakfast so far this term."

"I was unaware that there was a time limit involved," she said carefully.

He gestured, and a few sugar cubes leapt into his cup as his spoon stirred them vigorously. He lifted the cup and took a sip. "In life," he said, taking a helping of scrambled eggs, "it is advisable to apply yourself to everything you do with care. Especially when you are in a position of responsibility, a position that influences children."

"There is no guideline for the attendance of staff at meals." She took another sip of tea.

"Perhaps not," he said. "But in the absence of guidelines, one should create new ones, based on good manners and common sense."

"Really," she said. "You are suggesting that I create my own guidelines, but I rather doubt that they would satisfy your pointedly stated sensibilities, unless these guidelines should exactly mirror your own." She finished her tea and set it down on the table, watching as Minerva sat down with the Headmaster. "Good day, Silas." She stood up.

"Good day," he sighed in return, shaking his head.

* * *

Severus tried to concentrate on his breakfast, his lesson plan, and the three cauldrons brewing in his classroom, but his mind kept returning over and over again to Sarah. He stared down at his fork, commanding his thoughts back to the exacting process of creating the Salus Potion, but the look on her face rose up unbidden. He could not help but remember her holding the cup with both hands, as if it was the most precious thing in the world, and the faint smile as she drank in the steam had somehow affected him. When she had locked eyes with him he had been able to sense things stirring within her, feelings of contentment and ease that had long been denied, and he had felt guilt rise within him, old and familiar.

_You've healed her,_ he reminded himself savagely. _The matter is finished. She is just another teacher now._

Yet there she was again, her eyes clear and, if not happy, at least free of pain, and she had simply looked at him, with no resentment, no anger. He had not been expecting that. It seemed as if she had forgiven him, perhaps even some time ago.

For a moment he felt as if he couldn't breathe. He felt dazed at the emotions swirling inside him. After all of these years, he had finally done something that mattered to someone, something that hadn't backfired like the disaster at Godric's Hollow, something that had made an actual difference. Something that might have atoned for some of the monstrous things that he had done, and in a very direct way.

He pushed his chair away from the table, leaving his breakfast almost untouched. Ignoring the odd looks from his fellow teachers he made his way to the cool dark sanctuary of his rooms, where he could try to shake off these feelings privately.


	56. Slytherins vs Gryffindors

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

The Great Hall was exactly the same, save for a single, enormous curtain bisecting it neatly down the centre. Professor Marten stood in front of the head table, beaming. "Good morning!"

"Good morning, Professor Marten," responded the class enthusiastically.

Ron grinned at Harry. "This is it...our chance to show up the Slytherins!"

"Malfoy's going to wish he hadn't got out of bed this morning," said Harry, looking over at the pale-faced teen, who smirked in return.

"Today's lesson is simple," said Marten. "I will be dividing you into two teams. Each team will have its own flag. You can see the Gryffindors' flag there." He pointed to a table that stood against the middle of the wall. "The object of this game is to retrieve the other team's flag. You have ten minutes to devise whatever strategy you can in order to obtain the flag while defending your own." He gestured to a large hourglass sitting on the head table. "When the sands run out, the hourglass will flash green and emit a whistle. The game will be over at that point, and I will declare a victor. That will leave us another ten minutes to put the Hall back in order."

He hopped down from the dais and gestured with his wand, raising a portion of the curtain. "Nearly everything you've been taught is fair game, of course, and for those with a sensitive temperament"—here he looked at Neville—"rest assured that there is a Floo channel open directly to Madam Pomfrey's infirmary, should that be necessary. Though I should advise you against Unforgiveables," he added drolly. "Anything can be of use, though please try to restrain yourself from casting spells that are purely malicious or destructive. Also, the portion of the Hall containing the head table is off limits. Slytherins, if you please..."

Malfoy grinned malevolently at Harry before stepping through the curtain, followed closely by the rest of the Slytherins.

"Oh, and one more thing before I cast the appropriate charms," said Marten cheerfully. "Whichever team wins will earn fifty points for their House."

Ron whistled. "We could really use that," he said.

"Here we go," said Marten. "You have ten minutes to prepare..." He tapped the curtain with his wand, and it lowered back to the floor. They could hear nothing from the other side now, and Marten gestured again, dropping a new curtain into place that cut off the view of the head table area.

The Gryffindors gathered around Harry expectantly.

"We need to decide who is on the Retrieval team," said Harry. Ron's hand shot up, as did Seamus's. Neville put his hand in the air as well. "Ron, Seamus, you'll come with me." Neville's face fell in disappointment. "Neville, you're in charge of defence. It's your job to see to it that the Slytherins don't get the flag. I'm thinking, we turn the tables on their sides and bring them in close. Any other ideas?"

"We should make the flag difficult to get to as well," said Hermione.

"Let's get a few people rearranging the tables...Lavender?" he said. Lavender and Parvati immediately nodded and took to pulling away the benches from the table, while Dean began to shift the tables onto their sides.

"We could Transfigure the banners into nets," said Hermione thoughtfully, "to prevent them from flying in and grabbing the flag."

"They don't have brooms," said Ron, looking confused.

"There are other methods," she said impatiently. "Malfoy could levitate Goyle, for instance." Ron looked horrified at the idea of Goyle gliding through the air.

"I don't think we'll have enough time," said Harry. "Maybe just one, above the table...that would prevent them from using a Summoning Charm..."

"We just don't have enough time for an anti-gravity mist," said Hermione, looking sad. "We need a few more defensive spells...I'll work on those with Neville." She turned and walked off, leaving Harry with Seamus and Ron.

"So we get in, grab the flag, and get out," said Ron, looking nervous but excited.

"We need a way to get to the Slytherin flag easily," Harry said, thinking.

"A diversion?" said Seamus.

"A head-on approach could work," said Harry. "Two of us could come in from one side, while the third goes in from the other side and takes the flag."

"We could throw a few Stunners and then I could turn Malfoy into a weasel," said Ron longingly.

Seamus laughed. "I'd pay a Galleon to see that."

"We have to be ready for anything," said Harry. "They'll be casting lots of offensive spells...make certain you're ready to cast a Shielding Charm at all times."

Hermione came up again, pointing out the defences they had put in place.

Marten appeared again, smiling broadly. "Just one minute left," he said cheerily. Harry, Ron and Seamus helped move the last of the tables in place as the rest of the Gryffindors took cover inside their makeshift fort. Hermione was shouting out last-minute suggestions until the whistle sounded. Harry, Ron and Seamus readied themselves, keeping to the right side and hoping to have the element of surprise.

The curtain dropped and evaporated into nothingness.

Seamus gasped. Ron cursed.

The other side of the Great Hall was filled with magical white smoke, swirling and undulating. Harry couldn't see anything past the fog.

"What do we do now?" asked Ron.

He heard Hermione's voice, and turned to look. She shouted something he couldn't make out. There was an enormous rush of air, and it filled the Hall, roaring until it had cleaned out most of the smoke. Harry grinned at Ron. "Ready?"

"Let's go!" said Ron.

The Slytherins had done much the same, arranging their side of the Hall with benches stacked precariously on top of each other in the middle of the wall. Several tables were strewn haphazardly about, as if they hadn't had time to finish adding them. Harry couldn't see any of the students. "Let's use the tables as cover," he suggested to Ron and Seamus. They rushed to the first table and hunched down behind it.

It looked clear. Harry whispered a few more instructions to Seamus, and then crept out with Ron to the next table. Behind him on the Gryffindor side he could hear muffled shouting, but didn't dare look back. A red flash of light suddenly erupted, and the table shook resoundingly as a Stunner struck it. Ron gripped his wand tightly, a stubborn look in his eyes.

Harry looked around the edge of the table cautiously, and was almost struck by another Stunner. He paused for a moment and then popped out again. "_Reducto_!" he shouted, aiming at the makeshift barrier. The bottommost table exploded, and the other tables creaked ominously and then crashed in on themselves. Someone shrieked. "Next table!" hissed Harry. Ron leapt out for a moment and cast a Reductor Curse of his own, sending a few more tables crashing down. "Now!" said Harry.

Seamus came in from the other side, and all three of them went in, casting Full Body Binds, but the only Slytherins left were Pansy and Nott, who were now lying on the floor paralyzed.

"There's no flag!" shouted Ron. "Those ruddy, cheating—"

"No flag?" said Harry in disbelief. Ron was right. The table was empty. "Where are the other Slytherins?"

"They must be attacking our fort!" said Dean.

Harry looked down at Pansy and Nott. They weren't about to tell them anything, being paralyzed. "Let's go!" he said, running back to the Gryffindor side with Ron and Seamus right behind him.

Hermione and Neville stood in front of the last set of tables. Neville had an expression of pure stubbornness on his face, and he stood in front of the flag. Hermione's legs were obviously stuck together from the Leg-Locker Curse, but she was still attempting to cast spells.

"_Impedimenta_!" shouted Harry, and Malfoy was knocked off his feet. The other Slytherins turned and began to defend themselves. Neville continued to stand in front of the flag, determinedly protecting it.

There was a sudden loud whistle, and Harry dropped his wand arm, panting. "_Rictusempra_!" said Malfoy. Harry, surprised, barely had time to say "_Protego_!" before the curse rebounded. There was a quick pause and then Malfoy said "_Augeo_ _cranium_!"

Harry moved, but not quickly enough, and the curse clipped him. There was a weird feeling, as if his head was suddenly filling with air, and he watched in shock as everything began to distort. Hermione looked horrified. The Slytherins were laughing loudly as Professor Marten strode up.

"Always knew you had a big head," drawled Malfoy, generating even more laughter.

"Oh dear," Marten groaned. "Let's get you to Madam Pomfrey." He took Harry's arm and began to guide him to the fireplace. "Fifty points to Gryffindor!" he announced.

The Slytherins stopped laughing. Pansy made a furious noise. He heard Ron whoop suddenly.

"But no one retrieved a flag!" said Malfoy loudly.

Marten began to manoeuvre Harry into the fireplace after throwing in a handful of Floo powder. It was difficult, because at this point Harry's head was nearly as large as the opening, though it felt as light as air. Harry felt nauseated and shut his eyes.

Marten shouted over his shoulder, "Since neither side retrieved the flag, it is entirely up to my discretion, and I find that the Gryffindors were more organised, both offensively and defensively...they have won this competition!"

Marten gave one last shove, and Harry fell through, landing in the Hospital Wing. He heard Madam Pomfrey cluck disapprovingly as she took his arm and helped him to a bed.

* * *

Sarah buttered a piece of toast lightly. The students seemed a bit more lively than usual, especially the Gryffindors. She bit into the toast hesitatingly, hoping that she wouldn't be nauseated, and was relieved when she felt fine. A few more bites convinced her that the Strengthening Solution's grip on her was truly gone.

As usual, Sybill's chair was empty, and Silas was carrying on a conversation with Minerva about his classes that week. The Headmaster was at the Ministry, as he had been all week.

"Yes, they've won two competitions already this week," said Silas. "So they're one hundred points ahead."

"Pardon me?" said Minerva. "One hundred points..._That's_ where they came from?"

"The Gryffindors have won two of the Defence competitions, worth fifty House points each," said Silas patiently.

Severus whirled to look at him. "_Fifty points each_?" he snarled, looking enraged. "What is this nonsense?"

"Silas," said Minerva, frowning, "you can't possibly have been awarding points in that manner."

"Of course I have," he said stiffly. "House points are given or subtracted according to each teacher's discretion."

"Yes, but..." Minerva seemed to struggle for a moment to find the correct words. "Silas, generally points for events have to be agreed upon by the Heads of Houses. Such large point awards...well, I must say that they're usually only given for Quidditch matches, and special competitions, or in very special circumstances."

"This is ridiculous," spat Severus. "Fifty points...preposterous! Only the Heads of Houses give out fifty points—"

"Nevertheless, this was not explained to me," said Silas, "and I cannot see depriving the rest of my students of their due, so I will finish out the competition in the manner in which it was intended."

Severus looked as if he could breathe fire, and Sarah took another sip of tea, watching him. "This is intolerable," he hissed.

"I'm sorry, Severus, but you'll just have to take the matter up with the Headmaster," said Silas, shrugging.

"You could take the points away," suggested Sarah. "I'm certain that the students would understand. After all, I thought that the point of the exercise was to give them practical, hands-on experience in Defence. The points are only a bonus."

Silas turned to face her, his expression unpleasant. "As you are neither Headmaster nor Head of House I would suggest you keep your comments to yourself."

"It's a pity, really, that you don't heed your own advice," she said pointedly.

"My own..." He looked peeved. "As you are the most junior member of the staff, with the most limited timetable, I would think that you would know well your place and stay out of discussions that do not concern you."

"I believe that the awarding and subtracting of points concerns us all," she said neutrally.

"Sarah is correct," said Minerva. "You should have come to us before you began your competition."

"As I have said, I believed points to be the domain of each teacher," answered Silas with a bit of heat. "I did not realise that a committee had to approve each transaction."

"Now you're being unreasonable," said Minerva in an authoritative tone. "I believe that Albus will have a word with you when he returns. Until then, I don't wish to hear any more of this."

Sarah took another sip of tea to hide her smile.


	57. Trust

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

"Why does Potions have to be the last class of the week?" moaned Ron as they approached the dungeons.

"The sooner we get in there, the sooner it will be over," said Harry. He wasn't looking forward to it either; Snape had been glowering at the Gryffindors for the last two days.

They sat down in their accustomed seats, and began to set up their cauldrons.

"What a wonderful idea you had, Nott," said Pansy, loudly enough so that the entire classroom could hear her. "Casting a Vanishing Spell on the flag was _brilliant_."

"Potter was right next to it, and he never even bothered to check," drawled Malfoy. The Slytherins laughed.

Snape entered the room, looking smug. "Today we will have a competition," he announced, his arms crossed, staring at the Gryffindors. "Whichever House has completed the most successful examples of the Alertness Potion by the end of class will receive fifty points."

All of the Gryffindors exchanged angry looks. Harry immediately guessed that this was because of Professor Marten's class, as the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff totals were quite high after a week of winning every competition.

Malfoy looked at them, smirking, and Harry was angry. No matter how hard the Gryffindors tried, the fifty points at the end of the class would be awarded to the Slytherins.

* * *

"Ah, as pleasant as this conversation has been, I must be going," said Filius with regret. "On Friday nights I usually attend a small soiree at the Three Broomsticks." 

"Thank you for taking the time to discuss Charms theory with me," said Sarah sincerely. "I enjoyed it."

"Good evening, Sarah," said Filius.

"Good evening," she replied. The only other teacher left in the staffroom was Severus, who was intently reading a giant book entitled _Agony-free Antidotes to Perilous Potions: Third Edition_.

She looked down at the few pieces of parchment that she had brought with her. Filius had drawn a complicated chart on one. She picked up a blank parchment and looked at it thoughtfully.

She conjured an ink and quill. She hadn't written anything in years, preferring to use the auto-quill, as the posture required for writing had been too painful. Dipping the quill into ink, she attempted to write the word _Dear_. Too much ink. It smudged terribly, and her hand shook a little. She spelled away the attempt and started anew. This time she did not use enough ink and tore the paper. She fixed the paper and tried again. The letters were too far apart.

She kept at it, until the phrase _Dear Madam Malkin_ was to her satisfaction. She dropped the quill into the ink bottle and stared at the rest of the page. She was uncertain what to write next.

"Tea?" asked Severus. Surprised, she looked up just in time to see him set a cup of tea next to her hand. He sat down next to her, placing his own cup on the table as well.

"Thank you," she said, picking up the cup he had brought her and using it to warm her hands. The Warming Charm that she had placed on her robes did not extend to her fingers, and the staffroom was a bit on the cool side. The tea was black, which was how she drank it, but she didn't know if he had somehow known or just assumed that she would add what she required herself. There was an awkward pause, and she cast about for a topic of conversation. "Your book was satisfying?"

"The author seems to have forgotten the basic lunar cycles and how they correspond to the maturation of fluxweed," he said with some annoyance. "He also has erroneously illustrated foxglove instead of comfrey, and, yet again, has omitted several of the basic properties of nightshade. I shall have to send him another owl, though it hardly seems to help."

"Oh," she replied.

He paused for a moment, looking at her. "You are wearing two sets of robes," he said bluntly.

"Yes, I was rather aware of that," she replied, "having put them on myself this morning."

They sat in awkward silence for a heartbeat or two. "You don't have any winter robes, then."

"No," she said. "I'm not able to travel to Madam Malkin's establishment, nor am I able to Floo there."

"So you're requesting her to come to Hogwarts...or perhaps send her measure to you. A simple enough letter." His dark eyes glanced at the nearly empty parchment and then back up to her face again.

"Yes."

"There are other issues, then?"

She hesitated to tell him of her situation. "There is the question...of payment." She looked away, suddenly embarrassed. "I have a choice between purchasing winter robes, or purchasing dress robes for the Halloween Feast, you see..."

"I'm certain that, were you to ask, you'd receive a pay advance that would adequately cover both expenses."

"I don't wish to cover both expenses."

"Why not?" He sounded confused.

"There is the...inevitable...prospect of..." She took a calming breath and met his eyes. "At some point in the future I may be forced to leave, and I would wish for every Galleon possible to be at my disposal."

He looked away himself, but not before she caught the faintest expression of worry. He took another sip of tea. "You're torn between a set of winter robes, which would be of great practical use, or dress robes, which would only serve on one occasion, yet save you from public embarrassment."

"Yes, exactly," she said. "I must say that I'm leaning heavily to the former, as I've grown quite sick of casting Warming Charms."

He looked at her again, and she was now certain that there was something else in his gaze. His eyes seemed to penetrate her. "I can see how tempting that would be," he said quietly. "The embarrassment of being seen in plain robes for a single event can't possibly outweigh the satisfaction of being warm on a regular basis."

"Yes, but still...I don't wish to upset the Headmaster, or to have others extend to him the ridicule that should be mine alone."

"Perhaps if you spoke to the Headmaster—"

"No," she said. "I couldn't bother him with such a small thing. I have accepted his generous offer of protection, and fulfiled his only requirement. I can't—won't ask something more of him."

They lapsed into silence again. She finished her tea and put the cup down on the table, fingering the china absently.

"More?" he asked.

"No, thank you," she said. There was something about his gaze that she couldn't quite decipher. Something that she had seen, or felt, somewhere before. She stared at him, and her hand stilled on the cup. She remembered a high, shrill voice. _Where is the Painstone?_ "You have...you are doing something," she said awkwardly.

"Excuse me?"

"You are looking at me, and I don't understand why, but something in your eyes...it is rather like...the Dark Lord, when he was questioning me."

"You would compare me to the Dark Lord?" he said softly.

"Only your gaze at this moment."

He frowned. "Do you know of Legilimency?"

"Legilimency..." She tried recalling if she had heard of it before. It did seem vaguely familiar. "That would mean...sensing another's emotions and thoughts..." She narrowed her eyes. "All this time you've been looking into my mind."

His expression was inscrutable. "I assure you, it is not as simple as _looking_."

"Severus? Are you in here?" came Minerva's voice from the fireplace.

He stood up quickly. "Yes," he answered.

"You need to come to the entrance hall at once—Narcissa Malfoy is here, and she claims that it is urgent." Minerva's voice sounded rather displeased.

"Tell her I will be there in a moment."

The word _Malfoy_ reverberated through her bones unpleasantly. Sarah sent the unfinished letter, quill and ink to her room with a sharp gesture. Severus looked at her, and the look on his face was impossible to decipher. "Good evening," he said, and, picking up his book, strode out of the room.

"Good evening," she replied, watching him leave. Yet again, he was an enigma, and she had to wonder if she was truly doing the intelligent thing. She had taken steps towards him, confided a few things, but the twist of worry in her chest alarmed her. Legilimency alarmed her. Narcissa Malfoy alarmed her.

She frowned at the empty teacup.

* * *

Severus walked down the marble stairs to the entrance hall. "I will be meeting with Mrs. Malfoy privately," he told a fuming Minerva. She glanced at Narcissa for a moment before bringing her gaze back to him. He could see that the Transfiguration professor was worried about him, but she simply nodded and left. 

His gaze fell upon at Narcissa, who inclined her head, and he set off for the dungeons. She followed him wordlessly to his office door.

He took a seat behind his desk, and he could see by the tiniest tightening of her lips that she was angered that he had not invited her into his private study. "I assume that you have not paid a visit merely for idle gossip," he said.

Her lips tightened further, and he had to remind himself to be careful. "It is a matter of some urgency, Severus."

"I had gathered that," he answered. "Otherwise you would not have risked walking into Hogwarts uninvited and demanding my presence."

"I am well aware of the risks," she said. "But my options are limited at present."

"I am still waiting to hear your predicament."

"My predicament," she repeated, looking at him with her beautiful grey eyes. "I have been...worried since your last visit."

"Ah," he said as neutrally as possible.

"Lucius has not been...the same since he returned from Azkaban," she said, more bluntly than he had expected.

"Azkaban has that effect."

"When you spoke to me at the door, you said that he could be in danger," she said. "When I asked him, he laughed, and said you were exaggerating."

"Ah."

"What happened?" she asked, leaning forward slightly. "Why did you come to the Manor that night?"

"He received...an item," he said cautiously. "I had reason to believe it might be a threat."

"That...poppet?"

"Yes," he said reluctantly.

She looked troubled. "Who would send him such a thing?"

"An enemy, perhaps."

She gave the barest of nods. "Yes, my husband is powerful. There are those weaker than him who fear him." She looked troubled, and he knew that it wasn't simply an act. "He seems...changed, somehow. As if he lost something. When he laughs it doesn't sound quite right. There's little of the heat of anger in him now. When he touches me, it's as if he's somewhere else entirely..."

Severus wondered where this was leading. "As I've said, Azkaban can do that to a man. In time, he will regain himself."

She brushed an errant strand of hair out of her face artfully. "I still miss him. The way he was...before." She hesitated for a moment, looking at him, and there was a hunger in her eyes. "I miss you as well."

Severus closed his eyes in an attempt to block out the vision of Narcissa longing for him. It did not work. Her image burned on his eyelids. "You and I both agreed it should end," he said, attempting to maintain control. "There is too much risk." He reopened them to see her tempting him with her body, while her eyes spoke of hurt, and fear, and heat.

"You have no idea," she said softly, "what it feels like. To see him this way. To watch him walk through every room of the Manor and not find what he is looking for in any of them."

H realised, then, that she was including herself. "In time, he will...appreciate you properly again," he said, clenching his fists under the desk.

"Severus...he is not my husband any longer," she said, upset. "He is someone else. He's consumed by his...sickness." She produced an elegant handkerchief out of thin air and dabbed at her eyes. "I have always felt safe with you, and I know that he cares for you as a friend. It will hurt no one to continue what we should never have given up."

Her bald-faced lie struck at him. It was tempting, so tempting to remember how she had looked, in all of her porcelain magnificence, her ice-blonde hair wild on his sheets. Once, long ago, Rodolphus had made a sly comment to him about the Black sisters, and their fervour, and he had in his innocence been fascinated by them, fantasizing about their passion, their insatiable natures, their raw sexuality. Rodolphus had been right. She had all of that, and more, and he very nearly finished the first time they had made love simply from touching her skin, because she was an erotic daydream come to life.

Except that it had become very clear to him that she possessed an inner core that only Lucius could touch. No matter how talented her acting, no matter that she always remembered to call him by the correct name...in her mind was the image of Lucius, and it was Lucius she imagined as Severus held her. Their tryst had not lasted past June. It was obvious to him that she had chosen him because he was trustworthy, and because no one would ever believe that they were having an affair. As their time waned he had felt guilty, and used. Even so, she lingered in his mind.

"It would not be...wise," he said. The remembrance of her hot and passionate beneath him faded, to be replaced with cold, stale fear. It did not matter that Lucius indulged occasionally in an affair; Severus did not want to think of what might happen if Lucius were to find out about her infidelity.

"I need..." A tear was threatening to drop on her cheek. "Severus, I'm...trapped. I am alone, alone in that house, and he's...he's always in his study, or staring at his paintings...I don't know what to do."

There was something in her performance that began to bother him, and he began to feel the first touch of anger. "I don't know what made you think that I could resolve this situation," he said, keeping his voice controlled. "It would not be prudent to continue. I have no wish to jeopardise your position or my own."

She looked shocked. "Severus, you have no one...Lucius is lost to me. There is no reason that we should not..." Her eyes glittered suddenly with anger as she looked at him. "I see that your concern extends no further than yourself."

"You have always been loved," he said softly, the familiar feeling of anger now rising within him. "You have always had everything. You have no idea what it is like to have no one, as you so succinctly put it."

"You may have no one," she snapped, "but at least you don't live in a cage."

_How very melodramatic_ was on the tip of his tongue, but he knew that he had to be careful. "You have your life, and I have mine. We've made our choices."

"So you would leave me to lie in bitterness, and as my only sympathy tell me I chose it?" she said, her icy demeanour in full force. Only in her eyes could he see the hurt of his rejection. "I did not _choose_ for Lucius to break into the Ministry of Magic and get thrown into Azkaban. I did not _choose_ for him to be imprisoned. And now that the Dark Lord has risen again, Lucius has gone back to his old habits...the old sickness that I thought was gone I find has never really left him." She looked at him, and there was a twisted regality in her anger and loss. "If this is truly what you want," she said bitterly. "But I know you still desire me."

"And you desire me?" he spat. "You chose me for other reasons, I think." He leaned forward, lowering his voice menacingly. "Don't think that I haven't seen through this little ploy of yours. You are not coming to me now because of some desire for intimate companionship." He smiled in a nasty manner. "You are angered that his attention is elsewhere, and seek to punish him in the only manner you know would truly affect him...by arranging to have us caught in the act, and him made a cuckold."

"You—" She narrowed her eyes in calculated rage.

"Return to your manor, Narcissa," he said coldly. "You've failed."

She stood up, and her eyes flashed. "I should have expected as much," she said frigidly. "Not only do you refuse, you suspect me of some plot." She smoothed her robes, gathering her composure. "If I truly wanted him to find out, I could simply leave the memory of what we've already done in his Pensieve. You are a pathetic, snivelling fool."

Severus could feel the blood rushing to his face. "I am not the one begging here," he snarled.

For an instant he thought she would hex him, her face was so furious. "How dare you!" She visibly struggled to calm herself. "I came here tonight because I was worried," she said, her fists clenched. "I came here tonight because I needed the comfort of someone I thought cared for me. But I've received no answers. Instead I've been treated with suspicious and disdain." She took a deep breath. "My family means everything to me, Severus. Please remember that." She held his eyes for a moment longer, the warning obvious, and then she turned and left, her head held high.

Severus released his own held breath, his heart racing. His mind was jumbled with thoughts. He had expected dishonest dealings, but perhaps she had come tonight simply looking for succour. He ran a hand through his hair and cursed. Yet another difficulty.

He reached for the firewhisky, and poured himself a stiff drink.


	58. An Order Meeting

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Severus waited impatiently at the table for Lupin to begin the Order meeting. He fought the urge to rub his eyes. This week had been difficult. The potion sample's disappearance, Sarah owling a fetch to Lucius, Narcissa's visit...the last seven days had been filled with tension and worry. He had no news to report, as the next Death Eater meeting would not be until tomorrow evening, and he wished he could have stayed in his classroom.

The Weasley hen finished her Imperturbable Charm, and Lupin finally addressed the Order, looking tired as usual. "Tonight's meeting will be rather short, as we have nothing new to report," he said, looking in Severus's direction. A few made disappointed faces. "Tonight's orders of business will be the legislation that the Ministry has been deliberating on since last week, as well as voting on whether to accept Fleur Delacour as a member of the Order." He paused for a moment. "And I would like to welcome Silas to his first meeting."

"Thank you, Remus," said Silas, standing up and waving dismissively in Lupin's direction.

Severus nearly groaned aloud. Of course Silas would take any chance to grandstand.

"I assure you, your trust in me is not ill-founded." Silas beamed as he looked around the table at the other Order members. Lupin tried to say something, but Silas cut him off before he could begin. "I have been working on a rather detailed analysis of the situation, and have developed a plan which may be of use to us."

Severus sneered at the thought. Moody looked interested.

Silas began to make intricate gestures with his wand. A small stream of sparks flowed from the end, and they coalesced into monochromatic, three-dimensional figures about the size of a quill. Each one looked like a simple line drawing of an Order member. The representation of Tonks was violet; the Headmaster was white, and Silas himself was rendered in orange. Out they came in a steady progression until half of the space above the meeting table was taken up in floating figures.

Silas turned slightly and began new gestures, and a set of black figures, easily recognisable as Death Eaters, obediently drifted into place. Severus watched as his own figure, black along with the rest of them, stood just a little apart, not quite bridging the gap between the two sets. Moody seemed to be paying close attention, his expression serious, while Tonks and Bill Weasley appeared to be trying to cover their laughter.

"Now I was thinking of how a straight-forward scenario would progress," began Silas. "If they attempted a head-on attack, we could quite possibly flank them on one side."

The figures arranged themselves exactly as he had explained, and Severus could see the Dark Lord, outlined in red, surrounded by his loyal Death Eaters, and he felt a slight shiver.

A few more waves, and the scenario began to unfold in earnest, with the Order and the Death Eaters marching determinedly towards each other. Severus recognised Lucius's figure, who was hanging back as if waiting to see who would win. Molly Weasley looked grim and pointed at the Order's side of the table, whispering something in Arthur's ear. The tiny figures noiselessly opened their mouths, and looked as if they were shouting at each other, though they made no sound. Their wands emitted tiny flashes of light. The Dark Lord's spat green sparks, and down went the figures of Tonks and Shacklebolt, who were attempting to flank from the side. Everyone present suddenly became deathly quiet as the scene played out to its end, with the Dark Lord victorious and nearly all on both sides dead or dying.

"As you can see, this is not the best scenario," continued Silas, "though I must say that in my earlier permutation we were a bit more successful." Many of the figures got to their feet—McGonagall taking a bit longer, and being helped by Diggle—and dusted themselves off, waiting. "I've tried a few others. A divide-and-conquer scenario..."

The figures scurried to their positions at a cue from Silas, and everyone watched as the white figure of the Headmaster cut through the ranks, effectively forcing the Death Eaters into two groups. Shacklebolt and Lupin lead one assault, and the Headmaster and the Dark Lord faced off on the other side, with spells flying thickly around the brightly coloured representations. This time the battle was more evenly pitched, though the Order still lost. "You see, the most important portion of the battle hinges on our ability to deal with You-Know-Who. We need to concentrate on eliminating him early in the battle."

Fury exploded within Severus, and he had to fight to keep control. As if they had done nothing this past year, as if the Order didn't already know that the key to the battle was the Dark Lord. Seeing the crumpled figure of the Headmaster was frightening, though he would never have admitted to it. "I should think that was obvious," he hissed.

Moody ignored Severus entirely. "Could you add terrain to this?" he asked, poking at one of the figures with his wand. The Death Eater stood up, looking annoyed, and walked off a few paces to flop back down and play dead again. "A street, or the inside of a building?"

"I hadn't thought of it, but certainly," said Silas. "Any sorts of parameters could be incorporated. Forests, lakes...I was considering adding dragons..."

"Dragons? Interesting thought, that. Brooms, too," said Moody.

"Oh, yes," said Silas. "Brooms can be extremely useful, though it does make a Shielding Charm more difficult."

Severus watched as his likeness slowly inched closer and closer to the other Death Eaters, looking extremely smug. The representation of Lucius shook hands with him, and they began to talk silently, standing shoulder to shoulder.

"Could add Dementors, too," said Moody.

"Yes, and giants, I suppose," answered Silas.

"Fine piece of spellwork," said Moody approvingly.

"This could be helpful in developing new strategies," said Shacklebolt appreciatively. The Weasley twins talked in low tones to each other until Molly Weasley gave them a disapproving glance.

Silas beamed. "That is exactly its purpose."

The orange figure of Silas had marched across to the Death Eater side and now had his hands around the Dark Lord's neck, and shaking him vigorously. Tonks giggled.

"The next topic," said Lupin calmly, "is the legislation we spoke about last week. I would like to report that it has, in fact, been put on hold by the Ministry." There was a collective sigh of relief, as the legislation was a nasty bit of work that would require certain groups to submit to a magical "brand" that would alert all other witches and wizards in the vicinity to their presence. Severus personally cared not one whit, but everyone else was worried for Lupin and Hagrid. Silas looked disappointed as he made a final gesture with his wand. The colourful figures dissolved into nothingness.

"There's still a chance that it could pass," said Arthur.

"We'll all have to keep doing what we can about this," said Lupin philosophically. "Our next order of business...Bill, if you could retrieve Miss Delacour and show her in..."

Molly terminated her charm on the door, and Bill vanished for a moment. Moody and Silas continued to argue about various battle plans until Bill reappeared with Delacour. Molly resealed the door and they all sat down.

She smiled at them, her deep blue eyes quite attractive, her beautiful white gold mane of hair shimmering in the light. Severus watched in contempt as Fletcher sat up straight in his chair for the first time ever, his face frozen in what he evidently thought was a charming expression. She thanked them all for extending to her the invitation to join the Order, and Lupin began to ask her questions about her background, and what she would bring to the group, which she answered calmly.

Not that it mattered, as far as Severus was concerned. If they'd take an idiot windbag like Silas, the French girl was guaranteed a spot. Especially since she was the paramour of a Weasley. He knew little of her, except that he remembered her competing in the Triwizard Tournament, and Lucius had some years ago mentioned her family once or twice as a possible match for Draco. He watched her closely as Lupin finished his questions and the rest of the Order was given the opportunity to question her. Emmeline Vance asked her whether she understood the consequences of joining the group, and Moody did his best to outline the frightening possibilities of being in the Order, including a list of those who had died so far, and how. She paled, but still answered that she would consider it an honour. Jones asked what she would do if Bill Weasley was captured, and what would happen if she was forced to make a difficult choice between his life and spilling the Order's secrets. Again, Delacour replied with a small, brave speech, and Severus curled his lip in disgust. She had no idea what it was like to stand in front of the Dark Lord, alone and terrified.

Severus would vote no, of course. Any connection to Lucius, regardless of how tenuous, had to automatically disqualify the girl for him, though he didn't see the point of bringing it up, as it was such a remote bit of information. He would simply mention it to the Headmaster later. Besides, it was obvious that she was a popular choice, considering the looks on the faces of most of the Order.

After ten minutes of questioning had finished, they voted, and it was no surprise that there were many more green votes than red. Lupin announced that the meeting was over, and Severus got up and left immediately, glad to be free of the overly-warm kitchen and the presence of people. No one said goodbye to him except for the Headmaster.

The entryway was cold and musty, and he stared at the scuffed floorboards for a moment. Silas's demonstration made him think again of the futility of their resistance. Severus knew better than almost any of them the true strength of the Dark Lord, the power behind him, and yet again he thought of the chilling possibility that the Order would lose, and that he would end up a false Death Eater for life, trapped in his role.

There was a noise behind him, and he realised belatedly that he should have left and Apparated instead of standing there like a fool. Lupin emerged from the shadows. "I was hoping that you hadn't left yet," he said quietly.

Severus sneered. "Really."

Lupin ignored the sneer and continued in his usual unaffected manner. "I need some help."

"Help?" said Severus, confused.

"I would still like to recruit more people to the Order," said Lupin calmly. "I thought you might be able to provide a name or two."

Severus stared at him for a full heartbeat, his fury spiraling. "I see," he hissed. "You think I do not provide enough entertainment for the Order. You are eager for another turncoat."

Lupin looked angry and sad at the same time. "That's not what I'm suggesting at all."

"It doesn't matter that I put my life on the line at every possible moment for the Order," continued Severus softly. "Because you don't really trust me. You'd rather have—"

"We do trust you," said Lupin. "If we didn't, you wouldn't be here. And I'm not asking you for names of Death Eaters who would turn to our cause, because I'm certain that you would have provided Dumbledore with that a long time ago. I'm simply asking you for help."

"You've run out of friends already?" said Severus harshly. "What a shame." He was surprised to see nothing but pity in Lupin's eyes, and it only made him angrier. "I must be leaving." Pulling his travelling cloak tighter, he walked out the door into the cold night air.


	59. Pity, Again

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Sarah dreamt.

_She is light, weightless, dizzy. There is a hard surface beneath her. Cold. Something is holding her down. She blinks, turns her head, and sees the straps that pin her to the table, hold her left arm outstretched._

_Severus calmly holds a basin under her wrist, and she feels it then, the familiar slip of blood from her vein, the hot liquid dripping from her fingers in time with the beating of her heart. She can feel herself growing weaker. The room begins to whiten. "Stop," she rasps weakly. It is almost too late. "I'll die."_

_He looks at her, surprised. "You can't be serious," he says brusquely._

"_I want to live," she breathes._

"_And he did not?" he says, his face suddenly close to hers, his eyes menacing. "What you have taken, you cannot possibly expect to keep."_

She woke, panting, her heart banging painfully against her ribs. The blackness of her room was impenetrable, and she realised that her fire had gone out. The cold assailed her, and she shivered, groping for her wand in the darkness.

* * *

Severus stepped through the doors into the entrance hall, his anger finally ebbing away. He thought again of Narcissa's words to him yesterday, and walked down the corridor to Sarah's rooms. The game was getting progressively more complicated. Knocking on the door, there was no answer, and he let himself in. Looking around, it became obvious that she wasn't there.

She wasn't in the staffroom, either, but Filius was, and mentioned that she had gone to the Owlery. He made for the West Tower, and found her on one of the staircases.

"Sarah," he said.

"Yes?" She stopped her descent and looked at him, and he was surprised to see a flicker of apprehension in her eyes.

"I wish to speak with you." She waited. "In private," he added.

"Ah," she said. She continued to walk down the stairs.

He felt slightly off-balance at her reaction. "You had no difficulties finding an owl?" It was the only innocuous question he could think of at the moment.

"No," she answered. They walked in silence until they turned the next corner, revealing another staircase. "It was smaller than I remembered," she said in a what seemed like a deliberately casual manner.

"What?" he answered.

"The Owlery." She was paying close attention to the stairs, one hand holding a handful of her double robes so that she wouldn't trip.

He remembered that she had been writing something before Narcissa had shown up. "Your letter to Madam Malkin?"

"Safely on its way."

"You decided your course then?"

"I am going to attempt to purchase both," she said quietly. "It all depends on Madam Malkin, however."

They reached the marble staircase, and Sarah kept to the right-hand side, but went down the corridor to her own rooms instead of toward the dungeons.

Opening the door to her office, she gestured to the fireplace with her wand, and the fire leapt up higher. She sat down on the couch and looked at him expectantly, though he could still see a trace of fear.

He sat down in one of the chairs. "I spoke to Narcissa Malfoy yesterday," he said.

"Yes," she said.

"She mentioned that Lucius has...been somewhat incapacitated as of late."

"Really," she said, in the same neutral tone.

"You told me that the fetch would not harm him directly," he said, watching her closely.

"I did," she answered, "and it won't. We've already discussed this."

"Sarah, you must tell me the fetch's purpose," he said. "You sent it to him. If Lucius is harmed in some way, he...or Narcissa...will come after you, and that will affect the Headmaster and the school as well."

"It was a risk to send out the fetch," she said. "But I do not regret it."

"Tell me what it does." She shook her head, and her eyes were guarded as they looked at him. "Didn't you hear me? The Malfoys know more than a little about _revenge_, Sarah."

"So do I," she said calmly. "I will not tell you anything more about the fetch voluntarily, save that what you have described could not have been caused by the fetch."

Then Lucius was simply reacting to Azkaban, and was prey only to his own thoughts at the moment. Severus could not imagine what the fetch's purpose was, and it irritated him. "You would really seek revenge?" he asked coldly. "It would be a waste of all the Headmaster has done for you."

"You accuse me of incompetence and ingratitude in the same breath," she said, frowning. "I do understand what the Headmaster has done for me here, and I would not eschew it lightly. If the situation presents itself, however, I will do my best to have all the advantages I can muster, and if provoked...he will not walk away without some greater understanding of all I have suffered at his hand." She pointed her wand at the fire and lowered the flames slightly. "You seem fairly protective of him, even though you are having relations with his wife."

"Don't be ridiculous," he spat, his ability to cover his emotions serving him well. "She came to me because of your fetch." He gripped the arms of the chair tightly, and he forced himself to loosen his fingers.

"And you consoled her?" she asked calmly. "She seemed dressed for a far different event."

Sarah must have come down the staircase as he was escorting Narcissa to the dungeons. "Narcissa wanted to know what was wrong with her husband."

"And you told her that it was caused by the poppet."

He did not want to lie to her, irrationally. "I told her that I was worried about the poppet, but that the fact remained that he was in Azkaban for months, and that...changes a man."

"You did not reveal that it was me?" Her tone was neutral, but her eyes were suspicious.

"I distracted her from it," he said. "If she knew that you had threatened anything of hers, she would have you sacked immediately, at the least."

"Lucius knows."

"He has not mentioned to her that he knows you created the fetch, apparently. He does not perceive you as a threat."

"Interesting."

"Dangerous."

"The benefit outweighs the risk."

"Even if you risk the school or the Headmaster?"

She hesitated for a moment, looking troubled. "I had hoped that it would appear to be a childish prank, and be overlooked, though you have spoiled that effect by alarming them both...I still don't think that it will be seen as a risk. I am certain that attempts were made to find its purpose, and it is obvious that those attempts failed."

"I will be looking into the matter myself."

"You won't find anything."

"You sound very certain of that."

"I am certain. Unless, of course, you should decide to use your Legilimency skills on me instead..."

Suddenly her earlier look of fear made sense. "Are you so ignorant of Legilimency that you believe I could simply reach into your mind and pluck out the desired information?" he said in disbelief.

"I know almost nothing of it," she said, colouring.

"It is a complicated discipline," he said, annoyed. "Suffice it to say that what you are describing is nearly impossible. It is not so specific. It has more to do with emotions...with knowing when one is lying..."

"Ah," she said thoughtfully. "So that is why you believed in Nott's innocence so easily. A useful talent."

"You have reason to believe that he stole the potion?"

"He was waiting in the Owlery for a letter," she said. "He had a look about him...he seemed to be up to no good."

"Ah, yes, the Slytherin must be the one," he said bitterly.

She gave him a sharp look. "That wasn't what I was implying. He is rather clever, that one, and his father..."

"He does not have the sample," interrupted Severus.

"Not now, at any rate."

"He doesn't have it," he said. "And beyond a 'look' you have no proof that he ever did."

"No, of course I don't," she said, beginning to look irritated.

They sat in silence for a moment. He felt tired and angry. The room was too warm. "You will not tell me what the fetch does."

"You would have me compromise my future safety by revealing its purpose?" she said with a touch of disbelief. "You would have me choose his future over my own?" She shook her head. "You, more than anyone, must realise how favoured he would be in nearly any situation. I have to do something to weight the odds more evenly."

"You are safe here. Yet you are deliberately seeking him out and playing games with him. That does not shift the odds in your favour...it plays into his desire for games. Do you honestly think it will stop, now that you've sent him something dangerous? He is secretly delighted. He'll find a way to take it one step further, to send you something that won't be as innocent as your own property."

She did not look so sure of herself suddenly. "I hadn't thought of it in that manner."

He could not stop himself. "Apparently you are not as well-schooled in revenge as you thought."

She gave him a sharp look. "You, of all people, should be thankful that I...lack the skills for revenge."

He meant to reply cuttingly, but it was lost somehow as he stared at her. "You meant to revenge yourself upon me as well?"

"You think yourself undeserving of it?"

He thought for a moment. Here, in front of her, he felt the wrongness of what he had done seeping through. "I..."

"In the past...when I hurt, all the time, when I bled, and bled...when my father cried every time he saw me...I thought revenge was my due." Her hands tightened in her lap, and then relaxed. "Now that I have seen you try to make amends for what you have done..." She shook her head slightly. "Revenge is a difficult thing...how can anyone decide who should live or die? How is it my place to deal out such a fate? Yet there have been days where I can't help but recall the entirety of the pain that was meted out to me, and I can't stand to see it go unpunished..."

"You never approached the Wizengamot," he said, his mouth suddenly dry. "You never turned us in. I thought you were dead...but you were alive, and you never had us tried for our crimes..."

"I don't know much of what happened the year after the incident. I was in a haze most of the time. I do know that my father attempted to gain justice, but was thwarted by Lucius's connections." She took a deep breath. "It was difficult for my father...the nature of the incident precluded witnesses, excepting those involved...and I could not present a coherent statement on my behalf. I could not even place the memories in a Pensieve for the Wizengamot to examine, because of the nature of the pain potions I was ingesting. Even after months of diligent effort he accomplished nothing." Her hands were trembling. "You were in Azkaban, briefly, and then you were being protected, somehow. Later...when I had regained some of myself...I could not dare to bring anyone to trial, because there was always the threat that someone would reveal that I had become a Sanguimagus."

One fact suddenly clicked into place. "Lucius knew you were alive."

She nodded. "My father nearly fought a duel with him..."

"I had no idea," he said quietly.

"I'm certain that you had other things to deal with at that moment that were far more distracting."

He shook his head. "The Death Eaters scattered...many of them were imprisoned, or avoided it through clever means. Lucius never mentioned..."

"I would have been very difficult to find after that year," she said, and her voice was nearly inaudible. "That, coupled with other...circumstances, might have made him believe that I had passed away..."

"Other circumstances?"

"My father disowned me," she said, and there was a flash of pain in her eyes, "and I disappeared, in a way."

Lucius's voice came back to him then. _She has discredited herself so thoroughly..._He could not imagine what she had done to bring her father to take such a measure. Severus's own mother had never done so, even after Severus's capture. "Disowned," he repeated, stunned.

"Some thought he was mad to do so," she added, "because I was gone, and presumed dead. They thought I'd finally killed myself to free myself from the pain, and he'd lost his mind. Some thought that he was reacting, that he was deeply hurt that I would throw my life away after all he'd done..."

"Merlin," he breathed. It was clear now why she was Knutless, and he wondered who else knew. To be disowned carried a stigma in Wizarding society. "Your father...he was in the Ministry?"

"Yes." Subtle though they were, he could read the shame and upset in her face easily. "He might still be...I don't know."

"He's...alive?"

"Yes."

"He hasn't attempted to contact you since you accepted the position here?"

"No." She looked even more uncomfortable.

"You feel no desire to contact him? To let him know that you are alive?"

"He knows," she said in clipped tones.

There was more to this than what she had said, he knew, but he could not bring himself to ask anything further. He felt as if he needed to give her some privacy. "Sarah...I must tell you..." He faltered, wanting to say words that would help somehow. "That day in the grove...I..." Her eyes suddenly became intense. "It was wrong, what I did. It was wrong to make that potion." It felt as if sparks were under his skin.

The air seemed charged as she watched him for a moment. "What is it you want me to say?" she asked softly. "You desire my forgiveness, now that you think my life is wretched and shameful? You wish me to placate you and free your guilt?" Her voice was odd. Her hands were still and tense in her lap. "The things that you did are long past. I cannot speak for other victims of your cruelty, but for me I would say that in curing me, any obligation was fulfiled. I would not seek any revenge or punishment for you on behalf of my former suffering, if that is what you want to hear." She took a breath and looked away. "You speak of revenge as if it is a birthright...you think of it as expected, as something to be bestowed or withdrawn according to a code. But I'm not so certain. In the long passage of time my pain, my problems, are easily forgotten. With the absence of that pain, much has become clearer. I know that retribution does not put things to right...pity does not make things easier to bear." She looked back at him. "You want forgiveness for yourself, so that you can erase another wrong from your toll. But you already know, I think, that I bear you no ill will any longer."

"I did not know for certain," he said, and it was an effort to say it. They sat in silence, and he felt so strange to be here, now, with her.

"You should go," she said finally, her eyes shuttered. "I think we've said enough."

He nodded, still unable to speak, and let himself out.


	60. A Galleon for your Thoughts

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Sarah closed the door to her office and entered the corridor. She was beginning to enjoy her talks with Filius, and she thought that today she might linger for the informal staff tea as well.

A glint of gold caught her eye. She looked down to see a Galleon resting on the floor.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a Galleon. A Sickle was the largest piece of currency she'd had of late, barring the advance in her pay that had been sent directly to Madam Malkin. A Galleon could have purchased so many things for her in the last year. Food. Clothing. A night on a soft bed.

Strengthening Solution, instead of having to barter with the Polish betrayer. Her breath hitched for a moment thinking of it.

Her wand was in her hand before she remembered that she no longer needed it to perform so many of the basic actions anymore. She was more than capable of bending down to pick up the coin now, despite some issues with flexibility. Still, it never hurt to be too cautious. She was about to levitate it when she noticed that someone was approaching her in the hallway.

"Good afternoon, Sarah," said Silas, stopping in front of her. "I was just about to pop in for a chat with Firenze. Perhaps you'd care to join us?"

Chat? With a centaur? She had to force herself to appear neutral. "Actually I am on my way to the staffroom to visit with Filius."

"With your wand at the ready? Certainly he is not so threatening as to require you to arm yourself before meeting with him." Silas stroked his goatee, looking smug.

"I was actually—"

"A Galleon?" interrupted Silas, suddenly noticing the coin. "Unusual to find one on the floor..."

"I was—"

"I'll just pick it up, then," he said, bending over slowly and reaching towards it.

The coin suddenly skittered a few inches away.

"What's this, then?" he said irritably. He reached out for the coin, faster this time. Again it moved quickly. "What sort of nonsense is this?" He looked at Sarah accusingly.

"I'm not certain," she said coolly. "I had just spotted it when you arrived."

He pulled out his wand with a flourish. "_Impedimenta_!" Bending down, he tried again to retrieve it.

This time the coin did a passable imitation of a jig and scampered even further away.

Silas stood upright again, his face flushed. "Very well, then, you've had your joke."

"It isn't _my _joke," she responded instantly. "As I said before, it was here in the corridor as I came out of my office, and when you approached—"

"You had your wand out already," said Silas loudly. "You were preparing the blasted thing for its performance!"

"I had nothing to do with it," she said, a bit sharply. "Its performance is entirely its own." She heard the sound of hooves behind her and whirled around. The centaur was staring at her impassively.

"Ah, Firenze, good afternoon," said Silas, straightening his robes. "I was just investigating this coin. It seems to be enchanted." Making a few flicks in the air with his wand, he concentrated once again on the Galleon. "_Leviosa_!" he commanded.

This time the coin made a popping noise and began to smoke. Silas quickly sent the stinging fumes on their way with another spell, swirling fresh air around them.

The coin remained unaffected on the floor, and Silas glowered at it.

Sarah's skin crawled at Firenze's presence. "I must be going," she said quickly. "Good afternoon." She wished fervently that she didn't have to turn her back to the centaur as she walked away.

The walk through the school was uneventful, and she breathed a bit easier. A few of her students wished her a good afternoon as she walked past them. She rather hoped that Silas would find Firenze's company so engrossing that he would forget Sunday tea.

Filius was in a jovial mood, and as she became engrossed in conversation with him she felt her tension beginning to ease. He had brought an enchanted jack-o-lantern with him and was showing her his method of charming them for the Halloween Feast.

"It is the quickest method for applying the Charm," he said, spinning the pumpkin around on the table with his wand. "Perhaps you could help? Two could accomplish more than one..."

Help? Charming pumpkins? She was surprised at the thought. "I...don't see why not."

"Excellent!" he said, beaming. "I have a few new ideas this year..."

The teachers began to arrive for Sunday's informal tea. Aurora was clearly in a good mood; she was humming as she set down a plate of ladyfingers. "Good afternoon, Filius, Sarah."

Filius began to explain his idea for creating turnips that would recite Halloween-themed poems, and float aimlessly throughout Hogwarts.

Rolanda and Minerva entered, arguing about Quidditch, followed by Pomona, who was carrying a small plate of scones, and immediately set about pouring tea for them and herself.

Severus entered the room, and his eyes sought hers out for the briefest second before he took a seat next to Minerva.

Aurora gave Pomona a knowing glance. Sarah looked back at Filius and tried to concentrate on the tricky manoeuvreings of floating turnips, but Filius had turned to Minerva and began to ask her about the entertainment she had booked for the Halloween Feast.

Sarah took a sip of her tea, absently listening to Pomona and Aurora, who chatted about the Feast as well. The door opened again, and Silas entered. She tried not to grimace.

"Good afternoon," he said, taking a scone from the plate and pouring himself a cup of tea. "I've just come from a chat with Firenze...it's a shame that he can't manage the stairs...it would be delightful if he could join these little get-togethers."

"Too true," agreed Pomona. "He's very knowledgeable about herbs..."

"Yes, it is a shame," said Silas. "Centaurs have a wisdom all their own, and it behooves us all to learn from them. It is a pity, really, that certain witches—and wizards—feel so threatened by them..." He glanced at Sarah, who looked at him impassively.

"Firenze has been helping me mark the students' star charts and essays," said Aurora. "I've been so swamped this term, and with the lectures I've been attending, I really was falling behind."

"Hagrid has been saying that the centaurs in the Forest are getting quite touchy," said Pomona. "He's been accompanying me lately on my gathering walks."

"Perhaps Umbridge could return to the school and help foster centaur relations," said Filius.

Minerva smiled. "As tempting as that sounds, I'll have to refuse. Both myself and Albus have made it quite clear that she is no longer welcome here at Hogwarts." Sarah was confused. She vaguely recalled someone mentioning that the last Defence teacher had been named Umbridge. Had she been somehow involved with the centaurs? "There has been trouble with the Ministry," Minerva continued, her expression becoming grim. "They're considering legislation designed to 'brand' certain magical races."

"An outrage!" said Silas, bristling. "To deprive them of...to leave them vulnerable, easily tracked down by any wizard or witch and destroyed! Why, we'd have no giants left, no vampires...our magical heritage would be tragically lessened."

Rolanda snorted. "They're claiming it's for the good of the Wizarding populace."

"Every magical race is important for our continued existence," said Silas. "We have a duty to preserve and protect all species. Why, even the lowly doxy has a place in our world..."

She stole a look at Severus, who appeared deep in thought. She wondered at the expression on his face, touched with the faintest look of worry, and felt sorry for him. His espionage efforts must have him trapped between the two sides. It could not be easy to stand and face the Dark Lord, and lie to him. She remembered the red eyes, searching, burning her mind, and suppressed a shiver.

Black eyes met hers unexpectedly. Was he looking at her thoughts now? What could he sense? Legilimency sounded like a frightening art to her. She had always thought her mind to be inviolate, a sanctuary for her; to know that others could peer into her and know her secrets made her distinctly uneasy. She wondered who else possessed this talent. He had not looked away in this time; his gaze had, if anything, intensified. She brought up the sorrow she had felt for him in his divided life and let herself feel it. He immediately looked away.

Silas was speaking in strident tones about something involving courage and sticking to one's beliefs, and she suddenly could not sit for one minute longer and listen to him bluster while a man with bravery in spades was sitting across from him, mute.

"Good afternoon," she murmured, standing up. "Enjoy your tea." Several of the teachers nodded and replied, and she left, feeling strange. She could not understand why she would feel hurt on Severus's behalf. Yet there it was, lingering in her mind, bothering her as she walked down the stairs, deep in thought. Silas had done nothing to earn her respect, while Severus had taken on his dangerous assignment, knowing that he would receive little thanks, or, more likely, his death, and had reached out to her to make amends for what he had done to her.

"Sarah, wait!" Someone was calling, and she turned to see Severus following her, his black robes billowing.

She stopped at the foot of the stairs, and he descended them quickly to join her. "Yes?"

"I just..." He suddenly looked ill at ease. "What you showed to me there..."

"It seems that you do not turn your talent off," she said, trying to affect a light tone.

"It is better not to," he said grimly. "For someone in my situation, it is of vital importance to be prepared at all times."

"Ah," she said. He looked as if he wanted to ask her something, but nothing was forthcoming. "I have marking to finish," she said, starting to turn away.

"As do I." But his tone sounded troubled. They began to walk together towards the entrance hall, and though he could have easily outdistanced her with a few strides, he held back until they parted at the entrance of the dungeons with a nod.

* * *

Severus exhaled as he sat down. The night's meeting seemed, on the surface, a success. He had procured a vital bit of information about a strike at Muggle targets, and the Dark Lord had been preoccupied with the details, giving him time to overhear a few conversations between other Death Eaters. Lucius had said little to him, preferring to drink too much and insult Crabbe.

Yet underneath it all Severus was more worried than ever. The Headmaster had said very little to his report, being in haste to put into motion a plan to save the London Muggles who were threatened, and Severus had been reluctant to bring up his troubled thoughts, as they were still the same as they had always been.

Now, alone in his rooms, he could feel the pressure growing again, and he wondered how long the game would play out. Would his double life be discovered before the Dark Lord was destroyed? Yet again everything needed to be balanced against the need for a spy in the organisation. If they did too much to thwart the attack the Dark Lord would become too suspicious. But they had to do something.

He had been surprised that Sarah felt sorry for him.

That her pity did not bring on a wave of anger in him, only mild displeasure, meant something.

He rubbed his eyes wearily, hoping that tonight he would be able to sleep.


	61. Two Cups of Tea

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Malfoy and Nott were fighting. Something had happened over the weekend, and the other three Houses were abuzz.

At breakfast the two were scowling at each other, and Pansy was firmly glued to Nott's side. Harry had watched as Malfoy stood up and threw his napkin down, marching out of the Great Hall with Crabbe and Goyle trailing after.

Ron and Harry had whispered about it during History of Magic until Hermione glared at them, but they hadn't come up with anything believable. The Slytherins usually kept a unified front behind Malfoy, and this obvious division was mystifying.

Potions class was about to begin, and the conflict had escalated to the point that Crabbe and Goyle were cracking their knuckles threateningly in Nott's direction, until Snape glided in, cold and nasty as always. Within moments he seemed to sense that there was a problem. He hissed at them to take their seats, and then turned and gestured with his wand, bringing up the directions for the day's potion on the board.

Draco bit his lip as he stared at the back of Snape's robes, and Harry thought he looked almost...worried.

"Nott looks pleased with himself," whispered Hermione.

* * *

The common room was warm and inviting that evening. Crookshanks purred contentedly in Hermione's lap as she read a book. Ron was slaving over a Potions essay, frowning as he splattered ink on the parchment accidentally. Harry stared at the fire, wishing that it didn't remind him of Sirius.

"Well, I'm off to bed," said Neville, yawning.

"Good night," said Hermione. She turned to look at Ginny, who was fast asleep in the middle of complicated Quidditch diagrams. "Ginny, you should go to bed," she said, shaking her gently.

"Hmm..." said Ginny. She rubbed her eyes. "Yes...I s'pose it's time..."

Neville began to help her gather her charts. "Did you ever find the trick Galleon?"

"No," she answered sleepily. "Fred and George will be cross...it was a prototype..." They walked off towards their respective dorms.

Hermione looked around, and then cast an Anti-Eavesdropping Spell. "What do you think Malfoy and Nott are fighting about?"

"Who cares?" said Ron, yawning. "If we're lucky, they'll turn each other into slugs."

"Nott's been to the Owlery," said Harry. "Seamus mentioned today that he saw him sending out a package last week."

"I wonder..." Hermione paused for a moment, thinking. "I'm certain he stole the vial of potion after he heard us talking in the secret passageway. He might have owled it to someone."

Harry began to list names in his head, while thinking that luck had certainly been on Hermione's side earlier. Just moments before she was called into Snape's office, she had gone to the mirror passageway only to find that the potion sample had been stolen, and Harry had been relieved that she hadn't got into trouble for the original theft. Instead she'd been able to tell the truth, which was that she didn't have the sample. "Could he be sending it to his father? He is a Death Eater."

"It all depends on the potion itself, I suppose," said Hermione slowly. "If it was a potion brewed for Voldemort, then Nott may have been retrieving it to cover for Snape. If it was brewed for some other purpose, then Nott may have been sending it away to implicate Snape..."

"There's not much we can do about it now," said Ron philosophically.

Hermione looked frustrated. "I wish I knew what the potion was for."

* * *

Harry noticed Hagrid standing outside the door as they left Talismans class. "Hi, Hagrid," said Harry.

Hagrid nodded, but looked preoccupied. Hermione elbowed Harry and pointed to Hagrid's boots, which were muddy and scuffed.

"Yes?" came Professor Tanner's voice from behind them.

"Professor Flitwick asked me ter deliver these turnips," said Hagrid, looking uncomfortable. He put a lumpy sack just inside the door, having to bend down to do so. "Professor Flitwick said yeh'd know wha' they were fer."

"Yes, I do," said Tanner, looking a little surprised. "I just wasn't expecting them so soon." She gestured with her wand, and the sack levitated. "Thank you, Hagrid," she said, closing the door.

"Have you found him yet, Hagrid?" asked Hermione in a low voice.

Hagrid just shook his head as they walked off in the direction of the Great Hall for lunch.

"He must be somewhere," she said. "There's no sign of him at all?"

"Jus' a few broken trees," said Hagrid sadly.

"We could help," said Harry, feeling guilty that he hadn't done anything. Ron gave him a furious look.

"'S too dangerous. The centaurs aren' being too friendly-like, and yeh shouldn' be goin' into the Forest. Not even with me, now."

* * *

Severus had just managed to find a cooperating staircase when Filius stopped him. "Severus!" he said, nearly out of breath. "Could you take this to Sarah, please?"

He looked down and realised that he was being handed a turnip. A rather battered turnip, at that. He started to protest.

"I've found nearly all of them," he added, "but I must be off to catch the one in Minerva's office—it seems to be rather intent on getting into her tin of biscuits—"

Severus nodded reluctantly, and Filius dashed off in the direction of Minerva's office. Severus looked down at the turnip, and began to descend the stairs.

Severus knocked at the door to Sarah's office. He heard a muffled curse. There was a moment's pause, and then her voice called out, "Come in, but be quick about it!" He stepped into her office. "Close the door!" she said impatiently. He did so, mindful of catching his robes.

Several turnips were flying through the air at different rates of speed. One was resolutely knocking itself against a window over and over again. Others were lurking in the corners. A dozen or so were lying still on her desk, looking as though they'd been used as Bludgers.

"You've caught one?" she said, looking at the turnip in his hand.

"No, actually, Filius asked me to give this to you...what is going on?"

"He wanted to enchant turnips for the Halloween Feast," she sighed. "I said I'd help. I was setting the last of the independent floating charms, and apparently something went wrong, because when I activated them they all went mad quite rapidly."

"And you can't simply stop them with an Impediment Jinx?" he said impatiently.

"If an Impediment Jinx actually worked, they never would have left the room!" She put a hand to her forehead as if she had a headache. "I put Anti-Impediment Charms on them, because I knew that would be the first thing the students would attempt."

"Students are forbidden to perform magic in—"

"Yes, yes, of course, but they do. I did, at the very least, when I was here. I just can't understand what went wrong. I set up the charms so that you could stop them with a quick, specialised counter-spell, but it isn't working."

Severus ducked as a particularly energetic turnip came his way. "How did they get out? And how did you manage to incapacitate those?" He pointed to the defunct turnips on her desk.

"I've been attempting to cast a Terminating Charm on them, but, as you know, you have to be relatively close or have excellent aim," she said, sounding frustrated. "I've managed to strike a dozen or so of the slower ones just by luck alone. And as to their escape, well, a student opened the door at an inopportune time."

"Ah."

"Did Filius happen to say if he had found all of them?"

"He mentioned that there was one left in Minerva's office."

"Oh, dear." She rubbed her temple absently. "Of all the places..." A turnip floated by lazily. "_Finite Incantatem_!" she said, and the hapless vegetable fell out of the air abruptly. She levitated it onto the pile with the others.

Severus caught another that had wandered too close, but the rest hovered near the ceiling, or were travelling too quickly. Putting the turnips on the desk, he strode over to the one striking the window repeatedly, and aimed carefully. The vegetable fell to the ground, lifeless.

"You don't need to help," she insisted. "I can manage."

He merely raised an eyebrow at that as she stepped back quickly to narrowly avoid another turnip. Turning, he aimed precisely at one of the turnips lingering in the upper corner, and it fell to the floor with a wet noise. She looked surprised.

"Very impressive," she managed to say.

He sneered and began to knock out the slower turnips. She added them to the mounting pile.

"Now what?" she said, watching the remaining few zoom past.

He began to watch one of them, and noticed a recurring pattern in its flight. Taking aim, he brought it down.

"I had no idea that you were so talented," she said, looking at him with a new appreciation. "You must be a skilled duelist."

"I must point out that turnips, in general, do not hex back."

She hid a smile behind her hand. He felt an odd thrill for a moment, but damped it down, turning again to concentrate on the errant vegetables. He brought down three more, but the last one eluded him, as its pattern was completely erratic. "Stubborn fellow, isn't he," she remarked, her pale eyes tracking every movement. "I'm thinking that perhaps we need to simply catch him..."

"You could Transfigure something..."

"I think I'll get a blanket," she said, disappearing into her room, and he remembered her difficulty with Transfiguration. The turnip continued to oscillate wildly. She emerged again and used a well placed _Leviosa_ to spread the blanket out in mid-air. "Could you take the right-hand portion, and I will take the left-hand portion...we'll bring the ends of the blanket together and then I'll twist it up, trapping the turnip."

He nodded in assent, and she sighed in relief as the recalcitrant vegetable was trapped and dispatched. She sank down on the couch, and gestured to the teapot that was sitting on her desk to pour out a cup of tea. "Would you care for some tea?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, seating himself on the couch next to her, and a second cup was conjured from the kitchens as the first cup sailed to him. He plucked it out of mid-air. She really was quite good at levitating things. "Thank you very much for your assistance. I have a feeling that I would have wasted the entire evening pursuing turnips otherwise."

He nodded again, and took another sip of his tea. She hadn't asked if he preferred any sort of additive. Either she knew he drank his tea black, or she assumed he would ask if he required anything. "You don't have any idea what caused this?"

She looked at the pile of turnips. "It could have been any number of things. There was a bit of a 'hiccup' when I was applying the charms that would give them a bit of sensory input, but I can't be certain that led to the problem."

"Sensory input?"

"I wanted them to be able to notice walls and fixtures and steer randomly away from them. I also wanted them to stay within a finite space...it would do no good to have them wandering about one of the abandoned classrooms, after all. They were meant to interact with the students."

"It sounds like a rather complicated set of spells," remarked Severus.

"The spells involved were rather simple," she said. "The difficult part was getting them all to work in concert with each other. I'll have to be more careful next time."

"You're planning on enchanting them again?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps I should linger, then," he said, "in case the vegetables get the urge to run amok once more."

"I doubt that will be necessary," she said, "but if you feel that you'd like to waste an evening standing guard over enchanted turnips, then I won't stop you."

He nearly smirked at that, and took another sip.

Her expression became thoughtful. "I never thought I'd be here again," she said, holding her teacup with both hands.

"Here at Hogwarts?" he asked.

"Yes. I had always assumed that I would work at the Ministry, or for a company that creates charmed items."

"One seldom takes the path one planned."

"Very true." She paused for a moment. "In all honesty, I would never have guessed that I would ever be teaching. It was a surprising request."

"You don't care for it, then?"

"I don't know," she said, her eyes becoming unfocused. "In the beginning, it was simply a way to repay the Headmaster. Now that things have become easier, I find myself paying more attention to the role. The hardest part is knowing what—and who—is out there, and then seeing the students turn in substandard talismans that I am certain they could have completed correctly. I can't help but become angry. When I think of the danger outside these walls, I can't understand why they don't take this more seriously...I forget that they are still young, and that most of them have no idea that there is so much to protect against." She became quiet again.

"Do you think you'll stay here, after..." He felt a strange brush of awkwardness in asking her about her future plans.

"I hadn't thought of staying on here," she said, turning to look at him. "I haven't much of a chance, honestly, unless the Dark Lord is defeated utterly. Even if he is, there will always be those who seek Dark Magic and power. I will always be in danger, as long as the Painstone exists."

He had not thought of that, but it made sense, sadly. "There is no method of destroying it?"

"None that I know of," she said uncertainly. "It holds all of the pain that I've ever siphoned into it, and it cannot be released except by my own hand. It would become useless if I were to die, and that may be the only way that it can be kept out of danger."

"You would die to stop the use of the Painstone?" He concentrated on keeping his teacup still, but there was a sick feeling in his stomach.

"The Painstone can do more than cause pain," she said, looking at him steadily. "It can kill as well."

"I am aware of that," he said.

"There is enough stored in it to take several lives," she said. "I do not want to have to make that choice, but if I must, I must. You have your own choices, as well, do you not?"

"It isn't the same," he protested weakly, though he knew that he, too, put off his own decision about staying on as a teacher past the conflict for the same reason.

"You are spying on the Dark Lord. This, too, is a finite set of circumstances. At some point you will either be caught, or he will be destroyed."

"A somewhat simplistic view." Despite the tea he suddenly felt cold.

"Perhaps. But I view my own situation in the same manner. Eventually I will be captured and the Painstone used, however unwillingly, or I will die, and it will be locked forever, useless."

She was entirely convinced of this. He could sense her resignation. "There are always exceptions," he said quietly. "There are things, sometimes seen, sometimes unforeseen, that bring change."

"True," she said, but she did not seem convinced.

"Many years ago I witnessed a child, otherwise unremarkable, who managed to knock a full-grown adult onto his backside. She couldn't have been more than three, yet she struck at him, wandless, and thwarted his hex as well. Before that moment I would never have believed that a child of that age could do such a thing."

"It is in the nature of magic to attempt to protect the vessel it resides in."

"To a point, yes," he said. "But the results are usually rather simplistic reactions to the danger at hand. This was almost calculated. A Shielding Charm and an offensive hex, cast near-expertly, without a wand, by a child. There is always the element of chance."

"And the child?" She said it neutrally, but her eyes betrayed that she already knew the truth.

"Gone," he said. The weight of that single word settled between them, nearly tangible.

"Ah," she said quietly. A moment of silence passed. "When the time comes I, too, will strike out as I can."

His mouth was dry, and he took another sip of tea. He knew that she was referring to Lucius, and he swallowed painfully. "There might be other paths besides death and...capture."

"In the end it can only be those two," she said carefully. "I do not wish to soften my thoughts, or dress my choice in fairer words. I mean to live, if I can..." Her eyes betrayed some inner pain.

"There is no better refuge than Hogwarts."

She looked uncomfortable for a moment. "Yes."

"Is there somewhere else you would rather be?" he said, with more bite than he had intended.

She hesitated for a moment before answering. "No, I suppose not." She drank the last of her tea. "It's the best trap anyone could hope for."

"Trap?" he said with some small measure of indignation.

"Well, perhaps not a trap..." She sent the cup flying through the air, and it landed neatly next to the teapot. "But you understand...I cannot leave."

"Better alive, here, than the alternative."

"I am aware of that."

"You don't think that the situation is temporary?"

"It is how I must live until he is truly destroyed. If he is ever destroyed."

"He was killed once. He could be killed again."

"Yes, but he has the powers of possession. And he is versed in a very obscure portion of blood magic, which is how he brought forth a new body. I am not certain that anyone _can_ destroy him, because there is no one living now who understands, truly, what he's done, besides himself."

"There are things you don't know," he said.

"Of course," she said wearily. "I am not an expert on this Dark Lord. I am simply—"

"_This_ Dark Lord?" he asked, with a bitter smile. "Are there others I'm not aware of?"

Her mouth hung open for a moment, and he caught a frightened look before she covered it well. "There is only one Dark Lord, of course, and I know almost nothing of him, except what I witnessed a fortnight ago."

She was not lying, he knew, but he still wondered what her odd reaction had been about. "The Headmaster is tremendously gifted," he said, but as he said them he realised that those words no longer filled him with hope as they had in the past. The Dark Lord grew ever stronger, and it would only be a matter of time before they would be plunged into a terrible conflict, and he wasn't certain if any of them would survive, especially if Potter was really meant to be their saviour.

"You aren't certain that the Headmaster will be able to stop him," she said shrewdly.

"I'm certain of nothing any longer," he answered truthfully.

She nodded. "Despite what Sybill would lead us to believe, the future is unknowable. So many paths, so many crossroads..." She hesitated for a moment. "I would hope that both of us would see the other side undamaged, but I know that is thinking wishfully."

He stared at her. Had she just expressed the hope that he would live? There was a look in her eyes that he had not seen before, a brief glance of emotion that he couldn't quite identify. Warmth suffused his face. "I would hope for that as well," he said quietly. He had no wish for either of them to come to harm, after all, though he hardly thought it possible that they both would escape unscathed. Of the two, her odds were better, simply because she wasn't standing next to the Dark Lord himself on a weekly basis. He took another sip of tea, trying to cover his sudden discomfort.

"Thank you for all of your help," she said.

He nodded in reply, and drank the rest of his tea in one gulp. He stood up and placed his cup next to hers on the tray. "Good evening, Sarah."

"Yes, good evening, Severus," she said.

He returned to the dungeons and attempted to mark essays, but he could not shake dire thoughts about the coming conflict from his mind. His hand remained poised over a parchment with red ink dripping from his quill as he wondered anew if he'd live to see the destruction of the Dark Lord.


	62. The Bonfire

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

**Warning:** This chapter contains some graphic descriptions of the effects of violence.

**Author's Note:** Hey, some new reviewers! Thank you so much for reading. And thank you, Taya, Lydia, and cantatrix for your continued reviews---I appreciate them so much! You have so many interesting things to point out. Thank you all!

* * *

The Great Hall was filled with light. The weather had been uncommonly fine this week, and Sarah buttered her toast while enjoying the rare glimpse of blue sky.

Silas nattered away to Minerva, who was paying more attention to the Slytherin table, where it looked as if the students were about to break out into war. The tension between the students was so thick that it almost seemed tangible.

Sarah bit into her toast as she poured herself another cup of tea. Owls began to swoop, dropping letters and gifts to students. A particularly energetic tawny owl landed on the table in front of her, nearly upsetting the teapot, and she took the letter from him, giving him a bit of toast. He flew away and she opened the envelope, which was brightly coloured and decorated with Madam Malkin's logo.

She felt relief wash over her as she read the letter. Malkin had agreed to sell her two sets of robes at only a few Sickles more than she had proposed.

Then she read the closing lines.

There was a Galleon charge for delivery due to the extra time and energy that would need to be devoted to shrinking the robes and procuring owls hardy enough to transport the finished product.

Her heart sank. Another Galleon wasn't much to most wizards or witches, but to her it could mean the difference between shelter and a night in the woods. She frowned. There was no way she could travel to Diagon Alley.

She stood up and left, her eyes straying towards the Slytherin table. Nott was deep in conversation with Parkinson, and she wondered exactly what was going on.

The entrance hall was nearly deserted except for the Weasley girl, who was running toward the Great Hall in a panic, a quill fluttering in her hand.

She heard a familiar voice, and turned to see Severus taking points from the girl for her dishevelled appearance and for running in the halls. The girl looked miserable as she walked away.

"Good morning, Severus," she said.

"Malkin answered your query?" he said in what could have almost been termed a light tone.

"Yes," she said.

He walked toward her and stood close, as he did with Minerva.

"Except..." She paused, and he looked at her with curiosity.

"Except..." he repeated.

"She wishes for me to retrieve them in person, which, as you know, is quite impossible," she said quietly. "Or she will charge a Galleon extra for the delivery fee."

"Ah."

"Yes, well, I must be off...I will need to draw a further advance from my earnings."

"Perhaps I could retrieve them for you," he said, and the faintest of flushes momentarily appeared on his face.

She was surprised at his offer. "That is entirely unnecessary."

"There are ingredients waiting for me at one of the other shops," he said. "It would be fairly easy to stop in at Malkin's."

She hesitated. "You don't think that it will cause you any...problems?"

He seemed to understand what she was saying, and arched an eyebrow. "I don't foresee any unusual difficulties in picking up a parcel for a fellow professor."

"No, I suppose not," she said, and nearly smiled. "I will finish the particulars of payment before classes begin, and it will await your leisure."

He nodded and strode off towards the dungeons.

* * *

An eagle owl awaited Severus when he returned from breakfast, and he took the letter with dread, opening the heavy parchment envelope embossed with the Malfoy seal. He had nothing to offer the owl and it flew away after looking at him reproachfully.

His heart hammered against his ribs. Another special meeting, in the afternoon. On Sunday.

He sat down, aware that his students would be arriving at any moment. "_Incendio_," he said quietly, destroying the paper.

* * *

A day or two passed, and Severus brought Sarah's robes to her, finding her marking essays at her desk and frowning.

"Your parcel," he said, placing it on the chair.

She looked up, rubbing her left eye. "Thank you, Severus, that was really quite helpful of you."

"You purchased both sets of robes, then?"

"Yes," she said, looking relieved.

He nodded. She looked up at him with her curious green eyes, and he could not resist the temptation to probe further. He could see her gratitude clearly, and it pleased him.

She had been here less than two months, and already he felt something shifting. She had changed the balance somehow, and he felt as if he skittered across a set of scales.

"Severus?" she asked quizzically.

"Yes, I must be going," he said abruptly. "Good evening, Sarah."

"Good evening," she replied, and he could feel her eyes upon him still as he was walking out the door.

The corridor to the dungeons was blessedly cool, and he felt the faint flush on his cheeks recede.

* * *

Further into the week, late at night, responsibilities weight heavily upon Severus.

He looked longingly at the bottle of firewhisky on the table, but didn't bother to reach for it. The Order Meeting had gone on too long and grated on his nerves thanks to Silas; everyone was wondering what would happen tomorrow.

He couldn't indulge in a drink just yet; he'd save it for tomorrow. He would need all of his wits about him for the Death Eater meeting. He did not want to have to imbibe a hangover remedy and find his wits dulled.

* * *

It was a lovely day, sunny and bright, and Severus was surprised that the weather was still holding. The Mark on his arm burned as he strode out of the gates of Hogwarts. A few more feet and he would Apparate to the chosen location.

He had seen Sarah on his way out, but could do nothing more than nod at her.

The burning on his arm intensified, and he clenched his teeth as he drew his wand. For a moment he stood still, readying his Occlumency skills, preparing himself as much as he could for his difficult role.

The _crack_ of Apparating filled his ears for a moment, and he found himself somewhere else.

Somewhere outdoors. Apparently the Dark Lord wanted to take advantage of the unusually fair weather. He looked around, noting that he was still in Scotland, but somewhere remote. The scrubby brown grass under his feet was an indication of how close winter was.

A huge bonfire lit the gathering, and he saw Lucius, his blonde hair shimmering in the firelight. The afternoon light was burnished gold, lingering against the grass. The Dark Lord sat on a throne, and Peter stood beside him.

"Good evening, Lucius," said Severus, coming up to stand next to him.

"Good evening, Severus." Lucius seemed preoccupied, staring into the bonfire.

The last few who arrived joined the semi-circle. The Anti-Apparition spell was cast, and Severus emptied his mind of emotion, readying himself for the night's events.

Red eyes smoldered as the Dark Lord surveyed his followers.

"My faithful Death Eaters," he said, fixing them one at a time with his gaze. "Here we are." He leaned back on his throne. "All of you, loyal to me, and our cause."

An immediate chorus of "Yes, my Lord!" followed, and Severus voiced the words along with the rest, though he could not prevent the vague sick feeling that squeezed his stomach for a brief moment.

"Yes, my faithful wizards," he said, looking pleased. "My dragons. You are the pinnacle...the pure-blooded paragons of our world.

"And yet...it is not truly our world, is it? Muggle filth infests every corner, finding its way into and polluting every crack and crevice.

"That old fool persists in _helping_ them. He does not understand their _true_ place in the order of things." He looked around thoughtfully.

"Dragons. Muggles do not understand them. They are kept hidden. Dragon _keepers_ track them, watch them, force them to live fettered.

"Yet they are the true leaders of the animal world. Just as we are the true leaders of our world, yet we are forced to swallow our pride and let the Muggles master _us_. Muggles, vile Muggles, who should be grateful that we have allowed them to live in our world for this long. You, my loyal followers, my Death Eaters, my Dragons...we should be ruling this world. We are its natural lords. The Muggles will remember us now. They will remember us and remember _true__fear_."

Severus stole a glance at the others. Macnair looked delighted. Lucius looked subdued. Flint looked enthralled. Severus repressed a shudder.

"Yes, they will fear me...and you, my loyal followers." He looked around again. "Yet are you truly loyal?" He seemed to ponder for a moment. "Are you truly my faithful, willing to follow me to any end?"

"You know my heart!" said Bellatrix resoundingly. She prostrated herself before him. "I would do _anything_ for you, my Lord."

"Yes, Bella, truly you are my servant," he said, sounding pleased. "But not all of my servants are so committed to our cause."

"Give the unfaithful to me," said Bellatrix, her eyes wild.

The Dark Lord laughed. "You may indeed have that chance before the night is through."

Severus clamped down tightly on his emotions. He arranged his face carefully, leaving just enough curiosity leavened with indignation to allay any suspicions. Lucius smoothed his blonde hair back from his face, a tiny, nervous gesture that made Severus's skin crawl.

He had to stay calm, but he felt the tension gathering. Desperately he tried to maintain control. _Fools who wear their hearts on their sleeve..._

"This traitor I welcomed into our inner circle," said the Dark Lord. "This traitor I gave my Mark. This traitor betrayed me...he betrayed our cause...and he betrayed each and every one of you."

Severus forced himself to keep his breathing even.

"He is vile...a coward...an affront to every loyal Death Eater who stands here...and he shall be punished tonight."

"Oh, give him to me, my Lord," said Bellatrix in breathless delight. "I'll break him, you'll see, I'll make him crawl."

"Perhaps later, Bella," he said, his white face gleaming. "Crabbe? Goyle?"

The two thugs nodded and left the circle, and Severus could hear their muffled footsteps in the grass. _I must remain calm._

There was a noise behind him, but he would not react. He could imagine their beefy arms grabbing him at any moment, taking his wand, pinioning him. His breathing remained calm only through tremendous effort.

There was a moment of silence.

Then Rookwood made a satisfied sound as Crabbe and Goyle brought a completely terrified Igor Karkaroff into the circle and threw him in front of the Dark Lord, in the middle of their circle.

Severus felt lightheaded with relief. Again, he had slipped from suspicion. He wound his self-control even tighter around himself, shielding, protecting his inner self, his secrets.

He replaced his fear with anger. Karkaroff had attempted to sell Severus out. Severus remembered the fury he had felt. When the Mark returned Karkaroff had fled like a coward. Severus sneered at the turncoat. The spineless sneak, who now cringed in fear at the Dark Lord's feet.

"Igor Karkaroff," said the Dark Lord in an almost pleasant tone. "I thought you must have been killed...you did not return to us, not even when my Mark called for you. Imagine my surprise when I heard that you were alive and well in Poland."

"Master, I can explain," cried out Karkaroff, grovelling. "I was looking for information for you—I could not return to you empty-handed, after all..."

"Information?" He leaned forward, his red eyes menacing. "What information could you have that could possibly be of use to me?"

"There is a—a potions maker in Poland..." babbled Karkaroff. "A potions maker...he had an amulet, from a witch, she might be a blood witch—"

"I already know of this witch," said the Dark Lord. "And as you have brought me neither blood magic, nor witch, I fail to see how this improves your _situation_."

"Please, no, my Lord," said Karkaroff desperately. "Please, I am your servant. I will do anything for you...just give me a chance..."

The Dark Lord seemed to consider for a moment. "There is one thing you can do for me."

"Yes, Master, anything!" The hope on his face was agonisingly clear. Karkaroff sweated profusely despite the cold.

"You can die a betrayer's death, slowly, as an example to the rest of a traitor's due," said the Dark Lord, his eyes blazing in fury.

Karkaroff sobbed in fear.

"Master, let me, please!" cried out Bellatrix.

He turned to her. "Not just yet, Bella," he said, his abnormally long fingers cradling his wand. "Be patient." Again his attention was focused on Karkaroff. "I believe that there are others here who have prior claims." He looked meaningfully at Rookwood.

"You gave them my name," said Rookwood angrily. "I went to Azkaban because of you. _Crucio_!"

Karkaroff's screams rang out into the evening air.

* * *

Sarah finished detailing the list of charms that had to be cast on the turnips and looked across the table at Filius. The staffroom was fairly quiet, and as she picked up her teacup he began to draw a diagram showing the interaction between the spells.

Sarah sipped her tea, looking out of the corner of her eye at Rolanda and Pomona, who were placing a wager on the upcoming Quidditch season. Silas was absorbed in an enormous book called _Curses for the Faint of Heart_ and making disapproving noises with every third page.

Filius moved the placement of one charm, explaining that its interaction with the Levitation Charm had caused too much strain within the turnip. She nodded in agreement. She'd made many talismans over the years, but talismans never required levitation, so she had made a few mistakes in the original placement.

The door opened forcefully and in rushed Minerva. "You're needed at once," she said breathlessly. "At the gates. All of you."

* * *

The mangled remains of Karkaroff were being levitated away from the circle by Peter as the Dark Lord began to speak again.

Severus watched out of the corner of his eye as Peter stood over the mutilated corpse, his back to the rest of them, his right arm moving in jerky motions. Severus wondered what last bit of ignominy he could be wreaking on Karkaroff's corpse. There was a sudden blur, and he realised that Peter had used a Portkey and, oddly enough, taken the body with him.

"...the fate of all traitors," the Dark Lord was saying. "Karkaroff was not true to us. He betrayed his fellow Death Eaters."

They had all taken a turn in the punishment, and Severus's wand arm felt numb from the repeated hexing. He felt cold down to his very bones. Lucius handed him a glass of firewhisky and he knocked it back in a single swallow, welcoming the hot rush of the alcohol in his throat.

* * *

Sarah followed the other teachers out into the dark. There was a light up ahead, at the gates. Hagrid stood watch, warning any students who neared to go back up to the school.

Sybill had a white sheet in her hand and had conjured a stretcher. The Headmaster said something in a grave tone of voice to the Arithmancy professor. A globe of white light hovered overhead, illuminating the scene.

Pomona, Rolanda and Silas had been a few steps ahead of Sarah, and she heard sudden gasps. "Who was it?" she heard Rolanda ask in a horrified voice. Silas staggered to a nearby bush and was promptly sick.

Sarah approached hesitantly and looked down to see a body so terribly mangled and disfigured by hexes that she was unable to ascertain anything other than it had once been human.

The Headmaster looked grave. "Igor Karkaroff," he said.

"Oh," said Pomona in a half-sob. "Who would...oh, this is..." Minerva gave her a handkerchief.

Sarah continued to look. His facial features had been brutally mutilated, except for his eyes. _So that he could see what was coming next_, she thought to herself. The few fingers and toes that were left were crushed to a pulp. There were half-healed marks here and there, and she deduced that they must have given him a Blood Replenishing Potion or some sort of restorative in order to prolong their torture.

The smell of burnt flesh and blood filled her nostrils unpleasantly. His dead, terror-filled eyes stared at her. Dark Magic still crawled on his flesh, pulsing weakly, still attempting to rend and ravage even though he was beyond their touch now.

Yet there was something else there. Some sort of crude pattern. She frowned and kneeled down, attempting to look closer.

"Sarah, you must move," said Silas weakly. "We need to get...him onto a stretcher, away from the sight of the children..."

She looked up and realised that nearly everyone was averting their eyes at this point. "One moment," she said. Someone had slashed a message into his torso, she was certain of it, but amidst the carnage it was difficult to see. The letter N...and again repeated farther down...

She thought her heart would burst in her chest. She couldn't breathe. Everything swam in front of her eyes. "Headmaster!" she said, lurching to her feet. "Someone has written...it says 'Snape is next'," she said, catching onto his arm for support. "He's been found out—they're going to kill him!"

Minerva turned deathly pale. "No, no..."

The Headmaster turned and looked down at Karkaroff's corpse, his eyes piecing together the words. He said nothing, but the expression on his face suddenly turned to one of sorrow, and someone made a frightened noise behind her.


	63. The Bonfire: Part Two

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

"What will you do?" asked Sarah.

The Headmaster looked pale in the twilight. "I am afraid there is little we can do," he said quietly.

"Surely there is some hope," she said.

"Even if I knew where he was, it would still be too great a risk," he said gravely. "Voldemort has many followers...it would be futile to face him in an altercation now."

"What if I could lead you to him?"

"It is simply too dangerous," he reiterated.

She had the distinct impression that he was leaving something out. She looked again at the unfortunate corpse at her feet and felt frightened. In a short while this would be all that was left of the proud Potions master.

Severus had healed her. He had spied on the Dark Lord, even though it meant his death. Perhaps he even welcomed death, as a means of absolution. She saw him in her mind's eye, tall, dark, ferocious, his black eyes gleaming, and yet she also saw a man. Someone she respected, and, she had to admit, had grown to like, which had not been easy.

The thought of never seeing him again bit deep. For a moment she stood, her mind racing with possibilities. Her hand felt in her pocket and closed around a familiar round gem.

"I will go," she said aloud.

"Go where?" asked Pomona, bewildered.

"I will find him," she said evenly. "I'll find Severus."

For just a moment she could have sworn that there was a look of triumph in the Headmaster's eyes, but it passed quickly. "A dangerous idea."

"No!" said Minerva, dabbing at her eyes furiously with a handkerchief. "Absolutely not!"

"You have no say in this," said Sarah.

"I have _every right_ to speak my mind," said Minerva, looking at her reproachfully. "Severus was my student, and a friend. As much as I will miss him, you simply can't walk up to You-Know-Who and ask him nicely to return him. And there is the very real danger that what you carry with you will fall into his hands! There is no need for both of you to—"

"I have to try," she said quietly.

"He's gone, Sarah," said Minerva, looking as if she was about to cry again. "He's gone and you can't help things by chasing after him."

"The gates are locked," said the Headmaster. "I'm afraid you'll have to use the Forbidden Forest..." Minerva looked at him in horror.

Sarah nodded and began to walk at the fastest pace she could muster. Behind her she could hear Minerva saying something in a sharp tone of voice.

Hagrid stood, looking forlorn. Potter, Weasley and Granger were next to him, speaking in low voices, Granger watching as Sarah made her way towards the forest.

* * *

It was growing dark, and Sarah knew that had walked far enough into the forest. She surveyed the clearing in the wan light and nodded. It would do. She knew exactly what she wanted to attract, but she wasn't certain it would work. She had seen them occasionally, wheeling and looping above the trees.

Thestrals.

Quickly she cut the back of her hand, bringing out the warm rich blood, the potent blood of a Sanguimagus. She threaded herself into it, focusing the power, beginning the call. It thrummed on her hand, the blood weaving through the trees, seeking.

There was no reply at first, and she began to wonder if it was strong enough. The forest was so very large, after all. The blood still rose from the back of her hand, its eerie red ribbons undulating before they drifted off.

She heard a noise, a whispering, leathery noise, and the tell-tale gleam of white eyes emerged from the trees.

She looked at him critically. A large specimen, a bit older than expected, but perfectly serviceable, with strong wings that flexed slightly as he took another step. More than adequate. The dragon-like head turned toward her, sniffing deeply.

She ended the call, but he continued to walk toward her. The blood in the air dissipated, except for that near her hand. The thestral was next to her now, its reptilian skin faintly gleaming. Delicately she wove the blood, making no sudden moves.

A few familiar motions, and the thestral suddenly froze into place, its white eye open wide in confusion. Immediately she struck with her dagger, slicing the jugular vein neatly. The thestral bared its teeth and made a horrible soft whining noise, but could not move. She put her hand over the wound.

Blood, rich blood, it streamed over her fingers, and she bit her lip as the magic began to flow into her, the fiery feeling so familiar.

The thestral sank to its knees, shaking, and she kneeled with him, not breaking the connection, feeling the blood begin to slow. She began to pull harder as his breaths grew more panicked. The magic was ebbing away, pulsing weakly beneath her hand, until there was one last, rattling breath.

All at once the blood power from his death struck her, nearly knocking her off her feet, but she bared her teeth and clung to his neck until she had absorbed the last of the magical energy.

Standing up shakily she looked at the corpse before her, lifeless and empty.

"Thank you," she whispered to the dead thestral.

Closing her eyes, she began to assemble a mental picture of Severus, recalling his lanky hair, his sallow skin, his long, thin fingers. His sneer. His dark, intense eyes. His carefully guarded private self.

Another cut, and the blood magic knew what to do. The tiniest of shapes flew off unerringly. She waited.

And waited.

He must be farther away than she had expected.

Then suddenly she was filled with the _awareness_ of him. He was a faint beacon in her mind. The locator spell had succeeded.

She reopened her eyes, putting her knife in her pocket and bringing out her wand. She could see white eyes watching her from the edge of the clearing.

She Apparated.

A cold wind ruffled her hair, and she drew her winter robe tighter around herself. She could just make out a bonfire in the distance. The blood power from the thestral swam within her, disorienting, intoxicating, and she had to lean against a large rock for a moment to collect herself.

Now that she was here it seemed more like a fool's errand. Fear swamped her. Could she really face this Dark Lord again and come away with Severus safely?

She didn't think so. A half-moon shed a bit of pale light on the bleak terrain, and she realised how vulnerable she was. The Dark Lord was the strongest wizard she'd ever seen. She shivered.

None of the Concealment Charms that she knew would work against him. She would have to take her chances on a blood spell and hope that he was as unfamiliar with them as she thought he was.

A gamble again. Always a gamble. Her life, and Severus's, resting precariously on the thin thread of hope.

She cut her hand again, bringing out a larger measure of the thestral's power, which was already beginning to dissipate. It could not stay long in her veins. She began to weave, deftly spinning it about her body until it covered her entirely. She took a tentative step forward and it moved with her, settling around her like a living garment.

Quietly and carefully she began to make her way towards the bonfire, watching for anyone posted as a guard, but she saw no one. Not even a lone spell, except the distinct presence of an Anti-Apparition. _Entirely too arrogant_, she thought as she neared the gathering. She could hear jeers and shouts.

The heat from the enormous black-flamed fire was powerful. It burned high and red-sparked, but it was not the centre of the circle; it was set to the side. A throne stood raised from the ground, and opposite it Death Eaters formed a semi-circle, with a figure in torn robes lying on his side as if too weak to stand. A figure that was instantly recognisable even if the locator spell wasn't still humming with his presence. Severus.

Her stomach spasmed violently. He was broken and bleeding, helpless against his assailants, and she knew only too well how that felt. Her knees were suddenly weak as she remembered a hand on the back of her throat, crushing her into the damp earth, bright twists of pain, sobs choking her.

He was so strong, so inviolate in her mind, and to see him broken on the ground, his robes shredded and bloodied...it was far more frightening than she ever could have imagined. She clenched her teeth as she watched someone cast another Cruciatus Curse. It shocked her to realise that it no longer mattered that he had participated in her torture. It only mattered that Severus was suffering and that she had to stop it. She had to get to him.

She grimaced and took a deep breath. Severus would be of no help. She had only herself and the ebbing blood power of the thestral. She could only hope that it would be enough.

She could see Nott rummaging through an open potions case that she recognised as Severus's, pulling out various restoratives, and she began to think. Clearly this was a pause in their show. They would give him a potion or two, let it heal some of the damage, and then begin anew.

She steadied herself and focused on him.

* * *

The whisky burned in his throat. Lucius watched him, grey eyes reflecting black flames eerily, and Severus wondered why.

Then the Veritaserum began to take hold.

The peculiar detachment was already surfacing, and he fought it, but he knew it was a losing battle. His vision was graying. It was enough of a dose to force him to speak the truth. His most dangerous memories had been left in the Headmaster's Pensieve, but that thought brought him little relief.

The Dark Lord loomed into view, and Severus realised that he was on his knees somehow. He was completely disoriented.

"Severus?" said the horrible creature. "Is something the matter? You look pale."

He could control nothing. Not his teeth, his lips, his tongue. They spoke without him. "The whisky. Veritaserum."

"Yes, quite." He laughed. "Since you've returned, I've wondered about you, Severus." He leaned in closer, his red eyes burning dangerously. "I don't think you are loyal. I don't think you are a _Death Eater_. Are you loyal to our cause, Severus?"

One syllable. One word, and it would all be over, the end would come, everything he had tried to do would crash to a halt. The question was impossible to misinterpret. In the portion of his mind that he still had control over he screamed in useless fury. He focused everything upon stopping his mouth, but it was of no use. "No." It damned him entirely.

"When did you first betray me, Severus?" asked the Dark Lord, almost conversationally.

"Nearly a year before you were first killed by Harry Potter," said his mouth.

"In Albania I had time to think, you see...I wondered who had been leaking information to the other side. It became apparent to me, through ways I will not mention, that some one was betraying me...but then you returned, and I gave you another chance.

"I do not give second chances lightly, Severus, as you already know. Out of respect for our past accomplishments I decided to let you live a little longer, to see for myself. Lucius vouched for you, said you were loyal, you were strong in our cause...

"Who is your master, Severus?"

"Albus Dumbledore."

The Dark Lord's face transformed from curiosity to rage; Severus's body was planted firmly and could not respond to his urge to flee. "That infantile, loathsome fool," he hissed dangerously. "That is who you give yourself to? That is who commands your loyalty? You are more stupid than I expected."

"Yes," his mouth said, and again, "Yes," because it could not understand the difference between a rhetorical question and a real question. The Death Eaters laughed uproariously.

"If you were to live past tonight," said the Dark Lord in a terrible voice, "you would have found yourself shunned by the very group you so foolishly joined. You cannot possibly think that the Order cares for you in any way. They only wanted the information you brought them. They are Gryffindors, a collection of Mudbloods, Muggle lovers...they are disgusting vermin that hate you. They laugh at you and your pure-blood ways behind your back. They use you to their advantage. They would have discarded you, left you to rot in Azkaban."

"Greasy little bastard!" screamed Bellatrix from the other side of the clearing. "How could you _do_ this?"

Severus felt as if his head was going to explode. His mouth was opening and closing, unable to put a true response together.

"Quiet, Bella," Voldemort said. "Are you listening to me, Severus?"

The pressure was released, and he gasped involuntarily, drawing in breaths. "Yes," said his mouth.

"Good. The Order of the Phoenix will curse the day they sent you back amongst us. When I have sent them your body they will understand what it truly means to toy with me." A grin that was nothing but evil appeared on his face, made absurd and disturbing by his lack of lips. "I am going to utterly annihilate the Order. I already know where their headquarters are; I know everyone in their ranks. Shacklebolt's manipulations were naïve...Sirius had his part to fulfil, and I knew all along how it was going to happen."

The nightmare was getting worse. Beyond the pain and horror that awaited him after the interrogation was the imminent destruction of the Order. He had no way to tell them. He railed and quaked inside his own mind.

"Crabbe, Goyle...take his wand and escort him to the centre of the circle," said the Dark Lord.

And there they were, finally, inescapable, their meaty hands grabbing him and dragging him unceremoniously. He could not resist. His wand and his cloak were ripped away from him and he was thrown on the ground. His heart pounded furiously. This was worse than any frightening dream. The cold earth stung the side of his face. Still partially caught in the grip of the Veritaserum, he could not even sit up.

Everything went dark suddenly, and he thought he could hear laugher from somewhere far away.

He heard a noise, there was a feeling of bright shock. Someone said, "_Ennervate_." The world came back into focus.

"Some are too delicate for Veritaserum, I fear," said the Dark Lord lazily from his throne.

Lucius knelt next to him, a look of pain and shock on his face. "I thought you were loyal," he said numbly. "I thought you were loyal."

"Yes, Lucius, he betrayed us all," said the Dark Lord.

"I had no idea...I thought you would..." Lucius looked as if he was going to break down.

"I'm sorry," said Severus softly.

"Lucius," said the Dark Lord. "It is time to punish this traitor. It is time to show _your_ loyalty. Remind him of the taste of pain."

"No," said Lucius, his voice nearly inaudible.

There was complete silence. Severus could imagine the shocked looks of the other Death Eaters.

"You will not participate in the punishment?" hissed the Dark Lord.

"No," repeated Lucius.

It was a battle of wills. Despite the power the Dark Lord wielded, he still needed someone like Lucius at his side, someone with wealth and connections. Severus shivered to think of what would happen to his old friend in retaliation for this moment.

"Very well," said the Dark Lord coolly. "_Crucio_!"

The fiery pain of the Cruciatus Curse engulfed Severus, bathing his body in flame. He barely managed to not cry out in pain.

The curse ceased, and he gasped weakly, dizzy from the leftover vestiges of Veritaserum. Lucius still stared at him bleakly.

He heard footsteps approaching, and Bellatrix was next to him, her face transfixed with fury. "I will _rend_ him, my Lord," she said breathlessly. "Let me show my devotion..."

The Dark Lord regarded Severus intently. "It is too early for that," he said. "You would leave him ruined, and the others would not get their chance...I want him destroyed like no other. I want him to suffer like no other."

"His potions case, Master," said Nott. "There are enough restorative potions in it to keep him alive for a good while yet."

"Precisely," said the Dark Lord. "Death is too good for our traitor...perhaps I will simply keep him alive for some time...he makes such a lovely centrepiece for our meetings..."

Bellatrix leaned in low and breathed hotly in his ear. "I always thought you'd find glory here...I thought you understood our cause." She bit down on his tender flesh, causing him to grit his teeth against the new pain. She leaned back again, blood standing out against her white teeth in her parody of a smile. "You'll regret this. You'll regret _everything_."

Lucius stood up and joined the rest of the Death Eaters, moving stiffly away.

For a long, horrible moment there was no sound except for his own laboured breathing. In that moment he saw the truth reflected in their eyes.

He was going to feel pain so terrible that he would wish for death. He wasn't going to save anyone. He had failed. The Order was going to be destroyed, and all of his work would be for nothing. He closed his eyes and reopened them, finding Lucius standing alone among the figures, his grey eyes shuttered.

Once again, the Dark Lord's voice cut through, pinning him against the cold ground. "_Crucio_!"


	64. The Bonfire: Part Three

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

The fire in the Gryffindor common room crackled cheerfully, and Harry felt overly warm as he struggled to finish his Potions essay. Ron was re-reading a _Daily Prophet_ article about the Chudley Cannons, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Harry could hear Hermione talking to Ginny across the room, but, seeing his look, said good-bye to her and came to sit next to him. "They still haven't returned," she said quietly. "I think that he was found out."

Harry knew that "he" meant Professor Snape. "I wonder what will happen." He put down his quill.

"He knows things," she said, frowning. "He knows too much...I hope he's used a Pensieve..."

"Why'd Tanner run off?" wondered Ron.

"I have a feeling the potion sample is involved," said Hermione. "It must have been something that incriminated him in some way..." She looked distressed. "Dumbledore has to go after Snape...he just has to."

"He hasn't, yet," said Ron. "He was in the entrance hall with McGonagall."

"They're waiting for him," said Harry. "They're waiting to see if he comes back."

* * *

Pain spiraled, crushing Severus against the unyielding earth, choking him. Darkness grew at the edges of his vision, and he thought he would die now if it did not stop.

It did stop, leaving him gasping and choking in the cold night air. _Still alive_, he thought bitterly. He had been so close.

He had no more wishes to spare for the torture to cease. He had no more thoughts for hoping they would tire of their sport. He only desired death, clean, simple, death.

Vaguely he thought of his obligations, the responsibilities that had always weighed so heavily upon him. They were gone now, distant, as remote as the quiet chambers he had called his own at Hogwarts. He remembered the Headmaster's Pensieve, sitting on the desk, flickering, thoughts of the Order swirling within it. What would happen to those thoughts, he wondered sluggishly. Would they vanish? He wondered who would find them if they did not. Would the Headmaster keep them? He felt dizzy and weak. Pain still clung to him, and there was a roaring in his ears.

His eyes began to focus again, and the noise diminished. A stone dug into his hip, and he concentrated on this small discomfort, trying to block out the rest of the agony.

There was an odd feeling, as if a moth had landed on his shoulder. Or perhaps it was a bit of lace, or a bird's wing. It seemed to sink into him, and his skin felt warm where it touched. _I am becoming delusional_.

There were voices behind him.

"We're very nearly ready to attack their headquarters," said Rookwood. "It's a shame that Barty is gone...he would have been invaluable. He did see inside, when he first attacked Moody..."

Severus stiffened in shock. _They think that Moody's house is the headquarters for the Order_. He exhaled weakly. _If they attack the wrong place, it will buy the Order some time. _The game was not over. He had to keep them from this information.

"Severus?" said the Dark Lord smoothly. "Was there something you'd like to tell us?"

He shook his head, desperate.

A cold, cold hand grasped his chin, bringing his face up, forcing him to look. "Your reaction leads me to believe otherwise."

"We have no more Veritaserum," said Rookwood quietly.

"I will not need it," said the Dark Lord. "That was Lucius's conceit." He looked at Severus calmly. "I can see there is something else...something you know..."

Severus could not avoid the red eyes that pierced him. A wave of panic flooded him, giving him a last desperate burst of energy. He tried to push away.

The Dark Lord backhanded him with such force that he was left dazed. "You will tell me everything, Severus," he said calmly. "The sum of your pathetic, traitorous life."

His vision swam. He tasted blood.

He thought of Dumbledore, who had shown him so much respect, who had given him a second chance.

_I must not fail_. He was so tired. His Occlumency skills were unparalleled, yes, but the Dark Lord was so much more than he had been. The resurrection of his physical body had given him a new strength.

Again he was forced to look at the Dark Lord. The red eyes were inches from his own.

"_Legilimens_," the Dark Lord hissed.

Everything blurred and vanished, and he felt the incredible power of the Dark Lord in his mind, pulling out image after image. He cried out as the memories streamed out, ruthlessly plundered as the dark, cold power probed deeper into his mind. His mother, crying in bed...a young girl throwing a stone at him...his first day at Hogwarts...

_No._

The Dark Lord laughed, then, and broke the contact. "No?" he said loudly, still amused. "Is that what you say, little traitor? _Legilimens_!"

Again the face of the Dark Lord slipped away, as memories were dragged to the forefront. Severus struggled in vain. _Empty your mind of emotion_, he said to himself ruthlessly.

The Order. Had to protect the Order. It did not matter what else was left. It did not matter, the pain of being upside-down in front of them, the pain of the Dark Mark as it burned itself into his skin, the pain of being indebted to James. Only the Order mattered. He collected himself. Protected the Order in his mind. Locked it away as far as he could manage.

The Dark Lord paused. "Lucius," he said slyly. "I had no idea that your wife had such poor taste." Severus's head lolled, and he saw Lucius's face, looking insulted, and then transforming into a look of understanding and anger.

Red eyes filled his vision again. "_Legilimens_!" Again his mind was being torn apart. It was hard to breathe. He choked on blood. Images flew by so quickly that he could barely make them out. Teaching Draco...brewing a potion...slicing into a rat...tea with the Headmaster...speaking to Sarah...

There was an ominous pause, and he felt an odd longing welling up. He would never see Sarah again. The thought was painful. He hoped that she would stay safe at Hogwarts, that the Dark Lord would be defeated and she could live a new life. He felt a stab of anger, that the Dark Lord could see her in his mind.

"Lucius," hissed the Dark Lord. "Were you aware that this _traitor_ had healed her?"

"Healed?" said Lucius, sounding wary.

"The blood witch," he said impatiently. "He has created the antidote to the potion he made for you."

Everything was silent for a moment. Then hands grabbed him roughly, pulling him away from the Dark Lord. "How could you!" shouted Lucius, his grey eyes wild. "How could you do this to me? I was your friend!" Lucius shook him roughly, looking as if he would snap Severus's neck.

Severus would have welcomed it.

"You've ruined it," said Lucius bitterly, breathing harshly. "You've destroyed my masterpiece. My greatest work. I knew she was alive...I wanted her...she was supposed to be mine. And _you have ruined it_." Severus closed his eyes, and Lucius wound a hand in his hair, pulling sharply. "Look at me!" he shouted.

"Lucius..." said Severus raggedly.

"It was a mistake," said Lucius in the coldest tone he had ever heard. "A mistake to convince the Dark Lord to let you join us. A mistake to give you such responsibility. A mistake to leave you alone with...my wife..." A look of disgust filled his face, and Lucius threw him to the ground. "You were my closest friend," he said angrily. "You were my ally, my...I can't believe..." He pulled out his wand, his hand shaking in fury. "_Crucio_!"

Severus screamed as the most intense wave of pain lanced him, rushing through his body like liquid fire. _This must be it_. _This must be the end._ He was being burned alive. He was being stabbed by a thousand needles. He was still screaming, his voice a thin rasp.

"Enough!" came the Dark Lord's voice. "There is still much more to be found. Nott, the potions case..."

His vision swirled in, collapsing on itself, bright sparkling points of light growing and shrinking at the edges.

* * *

Sarah felt a wave of anger as she realised that Lucius Malfoy had cast the Cruciatus Curse. He looked murderous, his cruelly beautiful face disfigured by fury, and she clenched her teeth against her reaction.

At that moment she would have given nearly anything to slice his throat and pull out every last ounce of power he had in the most painful manner possible.

The Dark Lord looked in her direction. Already the game had become dangerous.

She moved slowly, not wanting to disturb the concealing spell, heading towards the Death Eaters. The Painstone was in her left hand, her wand a comforting presence in her pocket. But still..._There is no possible way I can leave this place alive_.

The Dark Lord's eyes roved over where she had been standing up until that moment. A few more steps, and she was behind the Death Eaters, close to a large gap in their semi-circle. She could see Severus, his broken body bleeding and twitching on the ground. She stood still for a long moment. The concealing spell grew harder to control.

She pulled up her left sleeve, and there it was. The last nail head. The other two nail wounds still bled; she could not heal them, as close as they were to the last. A decade of study and planning, waiting to be unleashed as a last resort. But she was not trapped here; she had come here of her own volition, and she was going to pull out the last nail as an attack, not a defence. Indecision gripped her.

She could still get away. She could run, Apparate, get back to Hogwarts. She could leave him there. What did she owe him, after all? _This is insanity. I'm going to die. He's going to die. Nothing will be solved._

But there was a chance.

Red eyes sought her out. It was now, or it was never.

Her fingertips found the warm metal head of the nail. She pulled it out of her arm, a sudden flare of energy springing up as she flung it as far as she could.

It made a faint ringing noise as it struck a rock next to the gleaming obsidian flames of the fire.

"Silence!" said the Dark Lord. All of the Death Eaters turned to stare at him and the dark bonfire.

Her wand was in her right hand, the wood slippery with blood. She concentrated on the wand sticking out of Severus's potions case. It came to her hand and nearly bounced off. She pocketed it, hoping that no one had noticed.

A shape formed next to the fire. The Dark Lord held his wand lightly in his fingers, his eyes narrowed.

Sarah murmured a Lifting Charm and pointed her wand at Severus. She had little of the thestral's blood energy left; it had faded quickly, leaving her drained and wanting more.

The figure was still coalescing. The enormous, tawny lion's body, the scorpion's tail, the horribly indescribable face.

"A manticore!" shouted someone. "Merlin help us!"

"She's here," said the Dark Lord. "Find her! Find the blood witch."

Goyle and Crabbe were to her right, and the concealing spell was nearly spent. "I heard something," said Goyle.

"She's nearby," said Macnair. Her blood ran cold at the sound of his voice. "She must be."

"Manticore," said Crabbe in a strangled voice.

The manticore stared at the Dark Lord, its inhuman face set in a parody of a smile. "_Who has brought me here?_" Its voice was hollow, vibrating, sweeping over the dead grass, radiating through the ground.

"A Sanguimagus," said the Dark Lord imperiously. "Help me find her, and you can leave in peace."

The manticore regarded him, arrogance in every line of its posture, a king among magical beasts. "_Help you?"_

She held her breath. _No, surely it will not join with him..._

The manticore laughed, an awful sound that made her knees weak. Only too well did she remember that sound. "_You are nothing to me. Tell me why I should spare your life._"

She exhaled in relief. There was nothing stronger in a manticore than pride. Hopefully this distraction would give her enough time to get to Severus. She brought out the Painstone; it was the only thing she possessed which would have any sort of effect on the creature, should it attack her.

"Spare my life?" said the Dark Lord, clearly amused. "You will be lucky to leave her with you own."

The manticore stood still, astonished. Then it bared its pointed teeth in fury, growling in the back of its throat. It made Sarah's hair stand on end. Its eyes narrowed and its tail uncoiled, the sting glinting dangerously in the firelight.

The Dark Lord stood, tall, his pale skin gleaming, his wand held in a dangerous grip, his entire demeanour radiating power. The manticore began to crouch slowly. "_You will beg me for your life or I will kill you,_" it said, the words hammering unpleasantly on her ears. Crabbe and Goyle stared stupidly at the manticore, completely distracted.

Macnair was not so easily distracted. He still looked for her, his brutish face scanning the clearing. Severus made a weak, pained noise, and her heart squeezed in fright.

"I do not _beg_," said the Dark Lord. "Join me, and help me destroy the one who brought you here, or face me at your peril."

The manticore threw back its head and let out a deafening roar. Several Death Eaters screamed and covered their ears. Most turned pale. No sane wizard would face a manticore.

There was a flurry of robes, and a woman emerged from the half-circle, standing next to the Dark Lord, her long black hair in disarray, her wand held out.

"Bellatrix!" called out another Death Eater.

"You will have to kill me first," Bellatrix cried out, no trace of fear in her bearing. "_Stupefy_!"

"No!" shouted the Dark Lord.

The red beam caught the beast squarely on the chest and bounced off, striking the ground with such force that rocks and grass were blown into the air. With a horrible shriek the manticore launched itself at Bellatrix.

Sarah had to get Severus out of there before he was crushed.

Her wand was exchanged for her knife, and she stabbed Goyle in the back. He sank to his knees, crying out. She set her hand to the wound and _pulled_. It was a terrible way to obtain power but she did not have time. She would pay for it later. She thought of Goyle's fists and the beating she had received and gave one final yank, leaving him pale and gibbering on the cold ground.

The fire of his blood made her stagger, and she nearly fell against Crabbe, who was bewildered at what had befallen Goyle.

The concealment spell was in shreds. She ran to Severus, her heart hammering, the unfamiliar power coiling, hurting her. "Severus," she said breathlessly. He did not answer. His eyes were closed. _Thank Merlin he is still breathing._ She looked across the clearing at the potions case longingly. She could not simply Summon the entire case; it would break everything inside. She had no idea which bottle to Summon, and it was too far away to reach.

Hexes burst in the air around her, and she narrowly avoided a Stunner. Her knife in her pocket, the Painstone still in her hand, she hoisted Severus. With the Lifting Charm he was an awkward burden but a light one. She could feel the last of the obscuring magic fade away, and there were shouts as some of the Death Eaters noticed her.

She began to run, her feet slapping against the ground, desperately dodging spells, gasping as her lungs burned with the exertion. _There is no possible way I can make it to the edge of the Anti-Disapparition Spell._

The manticore screamed again, and the very air shook. A beam of green light passed her with only scant inches to spare.

She turned to look. The manticore and the Dark Lord were locked in a struggle, magic rending the ground, the air charged with energy and Dark Magic. There was a monstrous roar from the manticore and she tripped and nearly collapsed, falling painfully to her knees. A red Stunner arced overhead. She was nearly to the edge of the Anti-Apparition field.

She heard a far off cracking noise, and realised that Death Eaters were Apparating, fleeing from the clearing.

She looked back again, hoping no one had followed her. She put Severus down as carefully as she could. He did not make a sound. She brought out his wand with shaking hands. "_Ennervate_!" she said, casting the spell as forcefully as possible. Severus's wand worked flawlessly, and he gasped, his eyes snapping open. He tried to say something, his eyes rolling fearfully toward the sight behind her, but she said urgently, "Take your wand. Apparate to the forest. Now!" She pushed his wand into his hand.

"He's behind you," said Severus in a strained voice. There was a loud _crack_ as he Apparated.

The point of a wand dug into the back of her neck.

"I have you," came Macnair's rough voice. "Little bitch...you're caught."

It was a nightmare come to life. Her wand was not in her hand. She had no nails left.

"Stand up slowly," he said.

She obeyed. The wand tip did not leave her neck.

"Where's your wand?" he said.

"In my pocket," she said.

He laughed uproariously. She could still hear the shrieks and bellows of the manticore in the distance. He put his hand on her ribcage, slowly searching out her pocket, until he found it and pulled the wand out. "You pull a manticore out of your arse, but you don't bother to look behind you." He laughed again.

The Painstone was cold and smooth in her hand. It was her only chance.

"I'm going to share you with Lucius," he bragged. "I'm going to break you so good you'll piss yourself every time you see me." There was a whisper of sound; he was putting her wand in his robe. "Turn around and face me."

It was hot in her hand, then, the power burning incandescently against her palm, and she turned slowly, the pain from years of agony building and scalding. The look on his face was pure beast at first, and then his brow furrowed. "What's in your hand?"

"This," she said, and there was a flash of intense light. He looked stunned until the pain reached him, and he screamed. Ss she looked in his terror-stricken eyes she remembered what he had done to her. Her hand was in pain, excruciating pain, but she could not stop, she could not forget. She fed the agony to him, forcing it to arc into his body. He made a gurgling noise as blood flowed from his mouth.

One last burst, one bright spasm, and his eyes turned glassy as he collapsed.

The light from the Painstone died suddenly, and she was left in half-dark, her eyes smarting, her hand sticky and white-hot, his corpse at her feet.

"No," she said weakly.

She had killed with the Painstone.

Another oath broken.

There was a shout, and she moved aside as the feeble red beam of a Stunner nearly struck her. She bent down and pulled her wand out of Macnair's pocket and Apparated.


	65. The Bonfire: Part Four

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Sarah Apparated to the Forbidden Forest. She lurched forward, falling to her knees, and retched painfully, everything spinning around her. She had taken Goyle's power much too quickly, had not taken enough time to synthesise it properly, and now she was paying for it. 

The cold night air filled her lungs and her head began to clear. Her left hand throbbed agonisingly. She could not straighten her fingers. She looked closely. The Painstone had melted the skin of her palm and fingers and adhered itself to her flesh.

She drew her knife and prised the gem from her hand, cutting as carefully as she could in the scant moonlight. Pocketing the knife and the Painstone, she used her wand to cast a numbing charm on her bloody palm, wincing until the spell took effect.

She felt sick again, and waited until it faded. Eventually she was able to stand up again and survey her surroundings. She could still feel the locator spell, faintly pulsing, and she Apparated again, using it as a marker.

Her heart convulsed. Severus was there, a crumpled heap in torn robes, and she knelt down next to him, almost frightened to look. Blood streaked the remnants of his clothing. He was pale and bruised in the moonlight. She took hold of his shoulder and turned him onto his back.

He was deathly quiet, and she touched his neck, feeling for the large artery there.

He was dying. Another few breaths, at the most, and he would be no more.

_This can't be happening_.

She could feel his blood settling, feel the last of his energy dying with him. An intense frustration began to build. She had just pulled him away from the Dark Lord, used her last nail, stolen him away despite a rampaging manticore and a crowd of Death Eaters, only to watch him die now.

If only she had arrived sooner. If only she had thought to retrieve the potions case. If only she knew more than the most basic of healing spells.

The waste of his dying hurt terribly. _He deserves the chance to live. _But she would never be able to get him to Hogwarts soon enough; time slipped away from her, and she was keenly aware that she was witnessing his last moments.

She had to save him now, and there was only one way to do that.

Her knife was in her hand again. She lay down on the ground next to him, feeling the length of his body against hers, and she trembled at what she was about to do. The blade was not steady as she cut jaggedly into her arm. She put her knife down on the grass and carefully opened his mouth, holding the cut above it.

Her wand in her hand now, her power coursing through her, charging a single drop of blood, transforming it.

Magic instinctively protected the body it inhabited. Magic could heal, could prevent him from dying, if she had enough. It was not precise or thorough; it was clumsy and painful. But it was his only chance. _I can't do this. It's insane._

The drop of blood began to hum as she fed in Goyle's power with as much finesse as she could muster. The night air swarmed with energy. She could hear him drawing a last, soft breath. She let the drop fall into his mouth.

His body spasmed.

She grimaced and began to force her own power into the next drop. _Must_, she thought vaguely as she pushed in all the drop could hold.

Again his body reacted, and she paused for a moment, gasping. She could feel his blood moving sluggishly. The magic was not healing him quickly enough.

She gritted her teeth and ruthlessly _pulled_, tearing the magic out of her veins, out of her flesh, out of her bones. The drop of blood absorbed her power greedily as she sank all she could into it. _Too much._ It fell into his mouth.

She had gone too far. The wand fell out of her hand. _A stupid thing to do, after all._

Her mind grew foggy and dark. The end, at last. No more would she worry about the Painstone, the Dark Lord, what would come next. She thought of Severus, and felt a stab of regret.

* * *

At least he would live, his debt paid, a new life, free of the Dark Lord. She felt a faint sense of satisfaction as her thoughts spun away into nothingness. 

Severus slowly began to awaken.

He was on the ground.

There was something warm and wet across his face.

_Some new torture,_ he thought grimly. He opened his eyes slowly. The sky was full of stars; he could see the outlines of trees. He felt very strange. There was pain, of course, but also a curious fire in his blood, a frenetic whirling that was quite unsettling.

Trees. Why had they moved him? He realised suddenly that he was tasting blood. He froze in horror. Had he been turned? Had the Dark Lord made him into a vampire? Panicking, he reached up to clear his face, and touched bare flesh. An arm. His heart, already beating too quickly, gave a jump.

The arm was attached to a body, and as he looked closer, he noticed three marks on the forearm. Three round, bleeding puncture wounds, and a jagged cut closer to the wrist.

_Sarah._ He nearly cried out in fright, forcing his sluggish body to obey him, turning to look at her.

She lay next to him in the grass, perfectly still. "Sarah," he hissed. She did not move.

He fumbled for his wand, finding it next to him. As soon as his hand touched the wood it gave off green sparks. His mind felt muddled as he gripped the wand tighter. "_Lumos_," he said, and suddenly the clearing was lit by a clear blue light, harsh and strong. He was nearly blinded. "_Nox_," he said, and once more it was dark.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. He could not understand what was happening. Magic surged within him.

"_Ennervate_," he said cautiously, casting it with less force than he normally would.

Nothing. Not even a flutter of eyelashes. He felt as if his bones were filled with some molten liquid. There was a roaring in his ears. He could not concentrate.

A clear thought emerged. _Must get to the castle._ He conjured a stretcher as carefully as he could, and was still nearly knocked over from the force of it.

Lifting her magically was nearly impossible; he could barely control the energy that was flowing from his wand. He managed to get her on the stretcher, and made his way to the castle.

* * *

Harry crept down the marble stairs under his Invisibility Cloak. The Headmaster still sat next to McGonagall, sipping tea calmly. Madam Pomfrey was there as well, fidgeting. They all looked worried as they watched the front doors. 

Harry hesitated at the foot of the stairs. He was out after curfew, and he was spying on teachers. If someone caught him he'd be in serious trouble.

But he was filled with curiosity. Snape still hadn't returned, and neither had Tanner. Harry had felt anger and surprise earlier, strong waves from Voldemort that even the talisman had not been able to stop. That's when he'd put on the cloak and dashed downstairs.

He was just in time. The doors slammed open, and Professor Snape entered. He looked awful. His robes were shredded and filthy and stained with blood. His right hand held his wand. His left hand was tightly clenched. Behind him a stretcher was hovering.

"Severus!" said McGonagall, jumping out of her chair. Snape saw them and began to walk forward, looking confused. The stretcher followed him, and Harry could see that the figure on it was Professor Tanner. "What happened?" asked McGonagall as Pomfrey began to examine him.

"The Dark Lord..." began Snape. He looked around again as if disoriented. "They know...they found out."

"You've escaped," said Dumbledore, sounding quite happy.

"Yes," said Snape. "Sarah...I don't know what's wrong with her." Harry had never seen him look so unsure of himself.

Pomfrey murmured a few words, and Snape grimaced. "What happened?" she said, looking at him.

"I woke up..." He rubbed at one eye with the back of his hand. "I'm not certain." He seemed to come to his senses a little. "Enough—I'm fine. Help Sarah." Pomfrey turned to the prone figure on the stretcher.

"She found you," said McGonagall, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. "She found you and brought you back. I can hardly believe it."

"The Dark Lord said he knew where to find the Order," said Snape. It sounded as if he could barely put the words together. "But he was mistaken..."

"Does he know now?" asked Dumbledore gently. Snape shook his head.

Pomfrey straightened up and turned to face them. "I'm sorry, Severus."

"Sorry?" he slurred. "What do you mean?"

"She will not last the hour."

He blinked, twice, owlishly, and Harry would have found it amusing, had the situation not been so serious. Slowly the look on Snape's face changed to shock. "How is that possible? She's still alive. The Salus potion—"

"It won't help," said Pomfrey.

"It has to," he said. His astonishment was visibly turning into fear. "This isn't possible! You're a Mediwitch. She's still alive. You have to help her."

"What is wrong?" asked McGonagall.

Pomfrey turned to her. "If I had to make a guess, I'd say—as ludicrous as it sounds—that she somehow transferred her magic to Severus."

"That's impossible!" said McGonagall.

Pomfrey shook her head. "She's filled him with magic, and it healed him. Roughly, to be sure, but he's alive."

"She can't die," said Snape, and Harry was surprised to hear the note of desperation in his voice.

"There's nothing I can do," said Pomfrey.

"You can't—I—there must be _something_."

She shook her head. Dumbledore said something quietly. Snape closed his eyes for a moment before replying in a soft, frustrated tone.

"You must come up to the Hospital Wing," said Pomfrey. "You're still not completely healed."

Snape's eyes snapped open at that. There was a wild look on his face. His free hand clenched and unclenched. "No," he said. He turned and walked off unsteadily toward the entrance to the dungeons. The stretcher followed obediently.

Pomfrey made as if to go after him, but Dumbledore stopped her. "He needs to say goodbye," he said firmly. "It will do no harm to let him have this last moment with her."

She clearly wanted to argue, but finally nodded instead. "I'll be checking on him in the morning, then," she said in a tone of finality.

"I'd be worried if you didn't." Dumbledore smiled as McGonagall and Pomfrey walked up the marble staircase, coming within inches of Harry, who held his breath.

"Well, Harry?" he asked quietly when the other teachers were out of earshot.

"He's been found out," said Harry. "What will the Order do now?"

"We will find another way."

Harry nodded. "Will she live?"

"You have heard Poppy's comments," said Dumbledore evenly. "I think you know the answer already. Now you need to get back to your dormitory, Harry."

"Yes, sir," said Harry, turning and making his way to Gryffindor Tower.

He felt queasy. The emotions of the evening had been strong. Seeing Snape in such a state was disturbing.

He wanted nothing more than to sleep, but he lay in bed for some time, his mind remembering the image of Snape looking stricken as Pomfrey told him that Tanner was going to die.

* * *

Severus was barely aware of anything as he lurched down the stairs. He only wanted to be back in his room, away from the pain and the noise and near a bottle of firewhisky. 

He stopped in front of his door, rubbing his temples. His head swam. There was a sudden nudge to the back of his thigh. He whirled around, and realised that the stretcher had followed him.

Hands shaking, he reached down to touch the edge of her robe. The thick material was soft against his fingertips. Just five days ago he had retrieved it from Madam Malkin for her.

Sarah was unnaturally still, her pallor ashen and waxy.

He opened his door. The stretcher obediently followed him in. He closed it behind her and tried to piece together his thoughts.

She was dying.

He tried to remember what Pomfrey had said. His head was a riot of pain. Grabbing the bottle of firewhisky from the desk, he took a long swig.

The harsh liquor was like a Stunner to his gut. It very nearly came back up. _What is wrong with me?_ He looked back at Sarah. She was nearly dead, and he felt like he could pull the moon from the sky. His mouth still tasted like blood.

All at once it snapped into place.

A Sanguimagus spell. She had transferred her magic to him, and it had healed him, and now she was going to die.

The bottle hit the floor and rolled away. "You stupid, stupid, bloody woman!" he shouted. "How could you!"

He sank to his knees, his eyes stinging, his throat raw and burning. She had not moved a muscle. Why had she done this? She could have left him. She _should_ have left him. His skin crawled, her magic within him itching, writhing. If only he could draw it out, give it back to her.

He reached for the bottle again. There was no way to give it back. He gulped down more firewhisky. No spell, no potion existed—

A potion.

He nearly choked as the thought struck his fevered brain. A potion took on the magic of its brewer. If he could concentrate the excess energy—force it into a potion—

It was insanity. It could not be done. But even as that echoed in his mind his thoughts leapt to further heights and he found himself wanting to try.

He took Sarah to his room and left her on his bed, and went back to the classroom.

Standing in front of his worktable, he tried to still his thoughts, tried to calm himself. It was no use. He could not even still his hands, which jumped nervously and shook. Her blood was wild within him, gnawing at him. He did not know how soon it would leave him if he did not bring it out.

He closed his eyes and remembered the potion, the amazing potion that had come to his mind. He drove out everything else, banished the worry, the pain, the dying woman on his bed. He could only think of the potion. Nothing else. He drew on his Occlumency spells, blocking everything else.

He opened his eyes. Never had he been more aware of this room. Never had he been so completely tuned to every ingredient, every cauldron. The wand in his hand was part of him. He had so little time.

He began.

He moved as if a fire had been lit beneath his feet, working madly, his brain bent to a single purpose, his entire being straining over the cauldrons. His hands were in motion, Summoning ingredient after ingredient, pinching and stirring and pouring. Five cauldrons stood before him, smoking, belching fumes, the acrid smoke burning his eyes. He threw in handfuls of priceless powders, set spoons to stirring rhythmically, cast Cooling Charms and Heating Charms, Summoned bottles, throwing them aside after extracting what he needed, heedless of the sound of breaking glass. He needed no measuring scales; he knew precisely the amount needed.

The cauldron on the far left reached the proper consistency; he mixed part of its contents into another and tossed it aside, ignoring the wash of solution and the clanging noise as it rolled on the floor, coming to rest against one of the desks.

He redoubled his efforts, every fiber of his body devoted to the task at hand. Another cauldron was mixed into the rest; it joined its companion on the floor, amber liquid splashing everywhere.

The clouds of smoke and steam were suffocating, and he spared only a moment to send them elsewhere. The last three cauldrons boiled in front of them, and he knew that he only had seconds to bring them together. A few more ingredients. A few turns of a spoon. He lifted the small silver cauldron and poured its solution into the other two.

For a long moment he held his breath as they both turned black. Intense relief filled him as the solution on the left turned back to turquoise, and the solution on the right turned red.

The silver cauldron fell to the floor, unnecessary.

He sliced the last ingredient, barely minding his fingers. It was priceless, rare, something so associated with the Dark Arts that only Lucius Malfoy had been able to procure it for him.

Lucius. He closed his eyes in pained remembrance.

Opening his eyes, he finished cutting, and added it to the turquoise liquid. It turned a pale shade of magenta.

The last step. His carefully controlled burst of energy was fading. His thoughts muddled together. He no longer remembered the basis for the potion; he could barely keep the blackness from closing around him. Exhausted, shaking, he poured one solution into the other, nearly dropping it in the process.

The final cauldron began to emit sparks, silver sparks that stung his face and caught in the fabric of his robes and smoldered. Roiling clouds erupted. He heard the faint echo of thunder. Clutching the edge of the desk, he could only stare in desperate hope as the potion began to form itself. The fresh smell of rain suddenly filled the room.

The smoke dissolved, and the cauldron was empty.

He wanted to scream. A lash of his wand sent one of the desks flying into the others. Chairs scattered everywhere. He panted weakly, trying to regain control.

He felt drained. He grabbed the cauldron, his anger and shame and fright spiraling out of control. He had failed—

No. He had not failed. In the bottom of the cauldron rested three drops of potion. He saw, then, that it was the finest potion he had ever brewed, and he knew he would never be able to brew its like again. He poured the cauldron's contents carefully into a goblet. The three drops swirled, lit from within, tiny sparks humming and striking the metal. It was as if he had created lightning. He stared in amazement.

Sarah. The thought of her cut through everything else, and he ran, stumbling, to his bed, holding the goblet in both hands.

She was still alive. His heart pounded wildly. He opened her mouth gently, setting the now-warm goblet against her mouth and tipping it slowly. The drops flared and sparked as they slid past her lips, illuminating her cheek from the inside for the briefest moment. He took out his wand and relaxed her throat.

He waited, his blood roaring in his ears.

There was no change. Utterly defeated, he sat down on the bed, his vision blurring, his chest aching. He dragged his feet up onto the bed and let his head hit the pillow. Failure stabbed at him. His eyes stung.

She was next to him, cold, distant, and he wished bitterly that he could have spoken to her one last time, and wondered why everything always ended like this for him.

Darkness rushed over him all at once, and he succumbed, letting it pull him down into sleep.


	66. Waking

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

There was an _itch_, and Sarah began to emerge from the black void, consciousness returning to her slowly. The itch turned into a flash of pain as she tried to move her hand to alleviate it. She could not seem to open her eyes. They were dry and they hurt.

For a few moments more she lay still, feeling each breath fill her lungs. Her left hand ached too much to move, so she rubbed her eyes with her right, and when she opened them, she was staring at an unfamiliar ceiling.

Not Das Herrenhaus. Where?

Images began to resurface, and she understood, then, that she was at Hogwarts. Her throat burned; her tongue felt too large for her mouth. She wanted to sit up. She felt nauseated; her left hand itched and throbbed.

She became aware of a rhythmic noise, and turned to find its source.

Severus.

She tried to say his name, but it resulted in more pain. Coughing painfully, she rolled onto her side, waiting for the spasms to subside. It was difficult to swallow, as her throat was completely raw.

She reached out with one hand and touched his shoulder. There was no response. She shook him a little. He murmured and moved slightly, and she worried that he looked so pale. He was still wearing the bloodstained remains of his robes.

She sat up shakily and had to close her eyes against the sudden lurching spin of the room.

When it had settled she stood up determinedly and went to the fireplace. An untended fire lingered there. She reached in her pocket for her wand, and found it empty.

No knife. No wand. She grabbed the foot of the bed for support. Things steadied after a few deep breaths, and she took his wand out of his pocket and approached the fireplace again. "_Incendio_," she said.

The flames barely reacted. She frowned. "_Incendio_!"

A flicker, and the flames were marginally higher. Throwing in a handful of Floo powder awkwardly, she stepped into the fireplace, saying, as best as she could, "Infirmary!" The whirling force caught her and dragged her, spinning her round, and she was nearly sick. When it stopped she fell right out onto the stone floor of the hospital wing.

She could not stop coughing, and she tried to bring herself up to her hands and knees, but her left hand was slick with blood and she slipped, falling to the floor again.

There was a gasp from somewhere in the room, and footsteps, and quite suddenly she was looking into Poppy's astonished face. "You're alive," said Poppy.

Severus. Sarah wanted to say his name. "Thebeweth..." she said, and winced.

"Let me get you to a bed." Poppy drew her wand and Sarah felt herself floating across the infirmary.

"Theb..." She tried again, but began to cough.

"Stop trying to talk," said Poppy. "Let me see your tongue." Sarah obediently opened her mouth. "How did you manage to scorch it so badly?" She uncorked a vial and poured it into a goblet. "Drink this."

It tasted like freezing rain, and it stung, but within moments the swelling was gone. "Severus," she said emphatically. "I couldn't wake him."

"I examined him last night," said Poppy, picking up Sarah's left hand and inspecting it. "He was in rather good shape, considering what he must have gone through. I was just planning on checking on him when you fell through the grate." She opened another vial and poured a few drops into Sarah's palm. Sarah bit back a yelp as the burning increased. "Once I've seen to you, I'll Floo to his room." She applied another potion. It felt as if her fingers were turning to icicles. "The damage is extensive." She frowned, looking closely. "I will heal what I can, but there is no doubt that there will be some scarring."

"Thank you," managed Sarah. She was feeling rather dizzy and closed her eyes for a moment.

"Drink this," said Poppy, placing another goblet in her right hand.

The taste was quite familiar. It was a Blood-Replenishing Potion. Sarah opened her eyes and looked at Poppy, who looked away. "Thank you," repeated Sarah.

Poppy nodded. "I'll check on Severus, now."

"I'll go with you," said Sarah, sitting up.

"You should rest."

"I feel fine now. I'd like to be certain he is all right before I return to my own room."

Poppy looked as if she wanted to argue further, but said nothing, and stepped to the fireplace. Sarah followed.

Severus hadn't moved. He was still splayed awkwardly on the bed. Poppy leaned over him, wand in hand.

Sarah noticed that the door to his office was open, and there was an odd scent emanating from it. She stepped into the room. It appeared as it usually did, except a large cabinet next to his desk that had always been shut before was open, and it was a bit of a mess inside, and there was a Pensieve on the desk, radiating ghostly light.

Then she looked through the next open door into his classroom.

The floor around his worktable was covered with some sort of vile black ooze. Desks and chairs on one side of the room were overturned. Cauldrons were on the floor, and broken glass and potion ingredients were scattered everywhere. There was a faint scent of rain overpowered by a burnt smell.

She stood for a moment, confused. Who had destroyed his lab? What had happened?

One cauldron was on the worktable, turned on its side.

He had brought her to the castle. Apparently he had made a potion as well, a potion that had burned her tongue, and her throat, and somehow restored her magic to her.

He had saved her life.

She turned away from the wreckage and went back into his room. His robes were on the floor, and Poppy was pulling a blanket up to his chest. He looked better, clean, relaxed in sleep, and she felt relieved.

"He'll be fine," said Poppy reassuringly. "He'll sleep most of the day. I'll check on him occasionally. I'll speak to the Headmaster about getting someone to watch his classes."

"His classroom is destroyed," said Sarah.

Poppy gave her a strange look and walked out to see for herself. Sarah could not take her eyes off Severus's peaceful expression. She had saved him. He had saved her. They were both still alive.

"There's no way anyone can teach a class in there today," said Poppy briskly. "I've sealed the doors. The fumes are too dangerous right now."

"I have no classes today," said Sarah. "My classroom is empty. I'll go to the Headmaster and arrange to teach the classes."

Poppy gave her an appraising look. "Very well," she said finally. "Just be certain to get plenty of rest tonight. Try to sit through the classes. I'll have Dobby bring you your meals." She left through the fireplace.

Sarah stood for a long moment, watching him breathe, wondering why he had done what he had done. She put his wand on the table next to the bed.

She left the dungeons, pausing in the entrance hall. It was nearly dawn. Soon light would be flooding the Great Hall and students would be rushing in for breakfast.

She owed her thanks to Severus for seeing another day. Another vow was broken, and she wondered what the consequences would be. She began to walk up the marble staircase, on her way to the Headmaster's office.

* * *

Harry noticed that there were two conspicuously empty seats at the Head Table as he sat down at the Gryffindor table.

"They're not here," said Ron in an ominous tone.

Hermione looked as if she had been crying. Her eyes were red. "She can't have died. She can't."

Neville looked at them oddly. "Er...I'm certain she's fine," said Harry.

"Who?" asked Neville.

"Professor Tanner," said Ron, filling his goblet with pumpkin juice.

"Professor Tanner?" asked Neville. "She's died?" He looked shocked.

"I don't know," said Harry. "I don't think so." He felt a little queasy. What if she had died? She had looked terrible last night. He couldn't stop thinking of the stretcher following Snape.

"I'm certain Snape helped her," said Hermione, but she didn't sound certain at all.

Ron's attention was focused across the room at the Slytherin table.

"If Madam Pomfrey couldn't help her, how could Snape?" asked Harry.

"I just..." She looked as if she was going to burst into tears again.

"They're fighting again," said Ron.

Harry turned to look. Malfoy was standing up, and seemed to be extremely agitated. His face was flushed and he was listening to Nott, whose back was to Harry.

"What's Nott saying?" said Ron.

"How _dare_ you!" shouted Malfoy suddenly. It echoed in the Great Hall, and everyone stopped to stare at him. "After all he's done! When _my father_ hears about this—"

Nott looked as if he were laughing.

Malfoy suddenly seemed to notice that everyone was watching him. He stood still for a moment, his face ugly and flushed, and then turned and left angrily.

"They stayed," said Ron in disbelief.

"Who?" asked Neville.

"Crabbe and Goyle," marvelled Harry. Owls began to swoop and soar through the hall, dropping packages and letters, and the Malfoys' eagle owl appeared and swiftly flew off in the direction that Malfoy had gone.

Harry looked up at the Head Table, where the teachers were talking to each other in their usual manner. Dumbledore saw Harry, and gave him a smile and a small nod. The tension began to ease.

"I think she's okay," said Harry. Ron still watched the Slytherin table intently, and made a noncommittal noise.

"Do you really think so?" asked Hermione.

Dumbledore stood and the hall became hushed again. "I would like to announce that Professor Snape has taken ill, and as a result all Potions classes scheduled for today will be meeting in Professor Tanner's classroom. I am certain that you will join the faculty in wishing him a speedy recovery." He sat down again, and McGonagall smiled reassuringly.

Some of the older Slytherins frowned.

"She's teaching class today, she must be all right," said Hermione, looking relieved.

* * *

Sarah finally gave up on transporting chairs from one of the abandoned classrooms and pulled all of the cushions out of the storage closet instead. Her classes had markedly fewer students in them, and she didn't have enough desks or chairs to accommodate all of Severus's students.

The first years filed in obediently, looking nervous. "Please take a seat," she said. "I don't have enough chairs so some of you will have to sit on the cushions."

Once they had all settled in, she closed the door. "Your assignment is to work quietly, rewriting the essays you were supposed to hand in today," she said levelly. "I am certain that you will be properly appreciative of the second chance to polish work"—the Ravenclaws looked ecstatic—"and you'll work quietly until the bell." She sat down.

The students began to rummage in their book bags and pull out parchment and quills. It seemed very surreal to Sarah. Only last night she had stood next to the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters.

Only last night she'd used the last nail.

Her recurring dreams were now a reality. She had nothing left, no hidden weapons, no last resort. In fact, at this moment she didn't even have a wand, or her knife. For all she knew they were still in the Forbidden Forest.

She had always been afraid of a trap, and she could feel it pressing down on her. She had been uncertain about coming to Hogwarts, and now she wondered if she had made the wrong choice. Only two months had passed, and already she had used all three nails, crossed paths with—with Lucius, and faced the Dark Lord twice.

Yet it had healed her. Severus had healed her. She had regained her mobility. No longer was she constrained by the use of Strengthening Solution or changing bandages. He had freed her from his cursed potion.

And now he had kept her alive. She wondered at his skills. To brew something so amazing...

One of the students had fallen asleep at her desk. Sarah decided not to wake her. Doubtless the Ravenclaw had been studying all weekend.

The stack of essays to mark was exactly where she had left it, and it was strange to think of how close she had come to never seeing it again. She realised that she had begun to think of this room as her room, this desk as her desk, these students as her students, and she felt a bit of pain when she thought that she might not have returned. It surprised her.

She picked up the first essay and began to read. It was odd to be marking essays with a quill and ink, but with no wand, but with her own abilities seemingly at low ebb, she was forced to make do. Her handwriting had not improved much, but she could make a recognisable mark, and she worked quietly.

Time passed swiftly, and the next class filed in. Sixth years, Gryffindors and Slytherins. A smaller class than the first. Advanced Potions. The students sat down at their desks, and she recognised a few from her own Talismans classes.

Draco Malfoy entered the classroom, and their eyes locked. Anger was plainly visible in the teen's face, and she was taken aback for a moment.

News certainly travelled quickly. She wondered who had survived the manticore's attack last night, and what story the wounded had used to receive treatment at St. Mungo's.

There would be some sort of retribution, of that she was grimly certain. If not for the Summoning of the manticore and Severus's rescue, then for the death of Macnair. Her stomach made a funny twist as she unwillingly remembered his face, the look in his glassy eyes, the rush of pain. "Is there something wrong?" she asked Malfoy quietly, challenging him, returning his gaze.

He grimaced and turned away, sitting down with the other Slytherins, who weren't much friendlier. She wondered how many of their fathers she had injured, and what it would mean in the future.

Potter, Granger, and Weasley entered, and they sat down, all three of them watching her closely.

She stood up and closed the door. "You will use this class time to rewrite the essays that were due today," she said, taking her seat again.

It occurred to her suddenly that she had no wand, no knife, and in front of her there was a group of almost-grown teens, nearly half of whom had family she'd attacked just the night before. A small stab of worry dug at her and she felt very vulnerable sitting there.

Nott's expression contained the faintest suggestion of a smirk before he pulled out his parchment and quill.

* * *

Severus dreamed.

_Face down in the dirt, his only view is of boots. Black boots. Lucius's dark green boots are the only exception._

_The pain of the Cruciatus Curse renders him dumb. He can barely draw in a breath. His sleeve has fallen up and bunches at the elbow._

"_Should this traitor wear the mark?" comes a cold voice. "I don't think he deserves it. I don't think he should have that honour."_

_He struggles to sit up, but cannot. _

_Another voice._ "_My Lord, he mocks you with it." Rookwood. "Let me remove it."_

"_It is my Mark, Rookwood," says the Dark Lord. "I will remove it myself."_

_Pain begins in his arm, spiraling, building, until he is screaming..._

He opened his eyes, gasping, sitting up quickly.

Hogwarts. His room at Hogwarts. He closed his eyes for a moment and reopened them. Still Hogwarts.

"Merlin," he whispered, and put his face in his hands, the relief overwhelming. A few minutes passed. He could not believe he was home.

Slowly he dropped his hands from his face, and took a deep breath, looking around at the familiar setting. Taking his wand in hand, he Summoned a robe from the wardrobe. There was no sign of the old one; the house-elves must have disposed of it. He went to pull it on over his head, and stopped, staring at his left forearm.

It was gone. The Dark Mark was gone. He could not look away for a long moment. When the Dark Lord had disappeared the first time, he could still feel it, just below the skin, an occasional tingle, the barest flash from time to time. But now it was completely removed.

He would never have to hide it again. It would never signal another horrible meeting.

He finished putting on his robes and flexed his arm experimentally. Something nagged him in the back of his mind. Something left undone. Something important. Then he remembered.

The bed was empty.

Sarah was gone.

He could only vaguely remember giving her a potion, the noise of thunder...he charged into his office. The Pensieve was exactly as he had left it, but his private storage cupboard was open, and it was a mess.

The door to his classroom was sealed shut. "_Finite Incantatem_!" he said, and opened the door.

He froze in shock.

A foul black paste covered most of the floor next to his desk. Cauldrons were strewn haphazardly on the floor, dented. Chairs and desks were scattered everywhere on one side of the classroom.

He looked in horror at broken glass and priceless ingredients, all ruined. Hundreds of Galleons' worth of supplies littered the floor. He clutched at the doorframe for support. His worktable was pitted and cracked down the middle.

It was several minutes before he was able to form a complete thought.

Someone had cast an Imperturbable Charm on the door, and taken Sarah, though he did not know whether it was in health or in death. He felt terribly short of breath, unbalanced, frightened.

He stepped out into the cool corridor that led to the entrance hall. Emerging from the top of the steps, he could see that it was dark out. The Great Hall's doors stood open, and it was deserted. Turning down the hallway that led to the first floor classrooms, he went to the door to her office, and opened it.

She sat on the couch with her back to the door, with the Headmaster sitting in a large comfortable chair next to her that he had no doubt conjured. Smiling, he stood up when he saw Severus. "Welcome home," he said, his blue eyes twinkling.

Severus couldn't react. It was all too surreal. She was alive, his lab was destroyed, his espionage was done, and he had no purpose now.

"Headmaster," he said, his voice strangely hoarse.

"I have some pressing concerns at the moment," said the Headmaster, still smiling. "Perhaps after you're done speaking with Sarah you'll join me for a cup of tea in my office?"

"Certainly, Headmaster," he replied quietly.

"Good evening, Sarah, Severus." He left, closing the door lightly behind him.

"Severus..." she said uncertainly. He took a few more steps into the room. She had turned to look at him. She looked exhausted, dark smudges under her pale eyes, her left hand held close, ink smudges on the fingers of her right hand.

"Why?" He came closer, looking directly into her eyes.

"I assume you are referring to last night," she said.

"Of _course_ I'm referring to last night," he said, softly, angrily.

"I wanted to help," she said hesitatingly. "I couldn't...it didn't seem right to abandon you there, to die."

"It was _none of your business_."

"No, it was not," she agreed.

"You had no right." His anger was building. He was trapped, trapped here at Hogwarts, and nearly every Slytherin would hate him now. It was only a matter of time before Lucius—before Severus would face difficulties from the Board of Governors.

"I did what I thought I should I do."

"Did you consider anything at all before you so foolishly left the castle?" he said softly. "No, of course not. You went boldly into the dark on a fool's errand. You brought yourself—and the Painstone—right to the Dark Lord himself on a silver platter."

"Yet here I am," she said. Anger was beginning to show on her face. "And here you are."

"Only through the most astonishing luck possible," he sneered. "Had it gone wrong, we would still be there, and you would be subjecting me to the tender mercies of your Painstone under Lucius's Imperius Curse."

"Very well then," she said coolly. "I'm sorry I rescued you. Next time I'll leave you for the Dark Lord to pound further into mincemeat."

"This is no game," he said angrily. He could feel heat rising to his face.

"Are you angry because I was nearly captured by the Dark Lord, or because I interrupted your plans for martyrdom?" she said furiously. "This is ludicrous. I had a choice. I decided to take a chance and help you."

"I didn't need your help," he seethed.

"Yes, how silly of me. You were lying on the ground unconscious, just waiting for the chance to strike." She rubbed her eyes with her right hand, looking drained. The palm of her left hand was bandaged.

"You have no idea what he is capable of," he said quietly, staring at the bandage. He paused. "What happened to your hand?"

She looked at him and he could sense shame suddenly in her eyes. "I killed Macnair," she said curtly.

Severus sat down in the chair, feeling as if all of the air had been sucked out of his lungs. When he finally was able to speak again, he asked, "How?"

"The Painstone." She looked down at her hand, suddenly tense.

"You killed him with the Painstone," he said.

She only nodded, closing her eyes.

He studied her face, noting how tightly her jaw was clenched. He felt sick inside, knowing that she had killed to save him. "You should never have gone."

She opened her eyes, looking tired and wan. "I made my decision. I did what I had to do. You are still here. I am still here. The time for _should have _or _should not have_ is past, and unless you conveniently have a Time Turner in your pocket, there isn't much more to be done about it."

"This will have far-reaching repercussions," he said flatly. "You can't think it's all over. You've killed a man. With a Dark Artefact, no less. The Death Eaters will come after you."

"Yes."

"How you even found us—them, is beyond me."

"A blood locator spell," she said, flexing her bandaged hand slightly.

He remembered then. "It felt as if a moth touched my shoulder at one point," he mused. "That, I assume, was the spell?"

"Yes," she said. "It's still there, actually, though it's rather faint at this point..." She stood up and approached him, laying her hand on his shoulder. A moment or two passed, and suddenly his skin felt chilled when she took her hand away. The faintest smudge of blood appeared on her palm. She showed him. "Thestral blood. I wanted to be certain that I'd have enough power."

"You killed a thestral?" he asked, stunned.

"It isn't difficult," she said, reaching automatically for her wand and stopping halfway. She sighed and sat back down, holding her hand so that it wouldn't smear blood on her robes.

"Where's your wand?" he asked, puzzled.

"In the Forbidden Forest somewhere," she said. "You must not have picked it up when you brought me to the castle. My knife is there, too. I'll ask Flitwick if he can Summon them for me tomorrow morning."

He stood up immediately. "I'll retrieve them for you." She looked at him hesitantly. "I'm perfectly capable of casting a charm," he said, bristling as he left, walking through the front doors.

A storm was brewing. He could feel the wind rising. There was a rumble of thunder in the distance.

"_Accio Sarah's Wand_!" he said. For a few moments he held the spell, and the wand came whistling through the air. "_Accio Sarah's Knife_!" he said. "_Impedimenta_!" The knife stopped in midair and he took it.

He heard the sound of massive footsteps, and realised that Hagrid was approaching. "Good evening, Hagrid," he said.

Tears were streaming down Hagrid's face, and he pulled an enormous handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose. It was deafening.

"What is the matter?" asked Severus.

"Someone's...someone's killed Undarum!" wailed Hagrid. "I'm just goin' to tell Dumbledore...jus' awful..."

Hagrid had found the thestral that Sarah had killed. Severus nodded and held open the door for him, and Hagrid made his way towards the marble staircase.

Re-entering Sarah's office, Severus handed her the wand and knife. She took them from him with obvious relief and put them both in her pocket. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said.

"Thank you for the potion, as well," she said. "I owe you my life."

He did not want to thank her for saving his life, because then it would seem as if he condoned what she had done. "Yes, well, I must be going to the Headmaster's office."


	67. Trapped

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Blue eyes regarded him intently, and Severus felt the teacup shake ever so slightly as he placed it back on its saucer.

"A manticore," mused the Headmaster. "Quite remarkable."

"Yes." Severus placed the saucer on the edge of the desk. "It was...surprising, to say the least. The Dark Lord..." He trailed off, abruptly remembering the dark, the cold, the pain. Despite his long rest, he still felt drained and tense.

"Tomorrow will tell us who has survived," said the Headmaster. "I'm most grateful that you're still with us, Severus."

"The Dark Lord is still alive."

"Undoubtedly," said the Headmaster serenely.

Severus felt bitterness rise within him. "We are now left in the dark, Headmaster." He scowled. "We have no idea what he's planning, or what he'll do next."

The Headmaster took another sip of tea. "We will have to rely on other sources of information," he said. "Information which is more circumspect, to be certain, but perhaps not as open to wilful misdirection."

"Misdirection?"

"The plot against the Muggles in London turned out to be a fraud."

"Ah." Severus could feel his hands trembling and clenched them. "The Dark Lord was...toying with me toward the end, as I have said, and had suspected me for some time, as it turns out."

"I was not blaming you," the Headmaster chided gently. "I regret that the Order's presence in London caused you such trouble."

"It could not have been helped," said Severus wearily. "The information seemed legitimate, though we always knew that it might be a ruse to discover whether or not I was bringing information to you. The Dark Lord had enough evidence without this ruse, or even the potion sample. He questioned Nott about Sarah's first capture and escape, and Nott told him that he had seen me taking Sarah to Hogwarts. I had lied about seeing her at the castle and being unable to perform a Memory Charm. After that, it was only a matter of time."

The Headmaster sipped his tea and was silent for a long moment. "Do you think Sarah would be a good addition to the Order?"

"Sarah? in the Order?" he said, shocked. Several thoughts occurred to him at once, and he shook his head. "I don't think it's possible. She's a Sanguimagus, a practitioner of what could correctly be described as the Dark Arts. They barely tolerate me, after all; I can't imagine that they'd welcome her presence." He wondered what would happen now that he was no longer their star spy.

"Surely you have some opinion of whether she would be helpful or not."

"I think she would be deadly," said Severus flatly. "She killed a man, not yet a day past. She's unafraid to bloody her hands, which could be exactly what the Order needs. It could also be exactly what the Order should avoid at all costs. She would attract attention..." He sucked in a breath and tried to quell the nervous flutterings in his stomach. "The Ministry, as of this moment, is unaware of her crimes, simply because they were perpetrated against Death Eaters. Once this conflict is over..."

"You're afraid she'll be turned over to Azkaban," said the Headmaster bluntly.

"Yes."

"Being part of the Order might afford her some protection. In fact, it might be the safest course of action for her."

"She would more likely be used as a scapegoat."

"I am going to extend an invitation to her to attend Saturday's meeting," said the Headmaster. "If she chooses to attend, then the Order will decide."

Severus stared at him. "I assume," he said softly, "that you mean to tell them that she is a Sanguimagus."

"If she is to be a member of the Order, then her talents must be fully explained."

"Do you think it wise for Silas Marten to hear such information? Much less Molly Weasley...Sarah is teaching her son, after all. There will be an uproar."

"The Order will understand it is to keep such things confidential," said the Headmaster. "Sarah is talented in an obscure branch of magic. She'd be an asset to the Order. I will be speaking to her this week about the matter."

"Yes, sir," said Severus, feeling even more tired. "If there is nothing more..."

"There is one last thing," said the Headmaster. "Whatever you are thinking about yourself and your value to the Order, know that you are still needed." His blue eyes were serious. "There are innumerable potions for you to brew, and your advice is still worth a great deal. You, more than any of us, know how they think."

He could only nod. Worry gnawed at him.

"I would also not recommend leaving the castle for anything except Order business," he added.

_Trapped,_ thought Severus.

"Good evening, Severus," said the Headmaster.

"Good evening," he murmured in reply, walking down the staircase. He walked swiftly towards the dungeons, sparing only one glance down the hallway that led to Sarah's rooms.

* * *

Sarah dreamed.

_She is trapped. It is a dead end. She turns, but it is too late. They block her way, their white masks gleaming, their black robes quiet and menacing. She can taste her fear, bitter and stale in her mouth. Their wands are raised._

"_I will kill anyone who gets in my way," she says, and it is there in her hand, the Painstone, jumping and pulsating with sick energy. "Let me go."_

_Some of them laugh, then, and they begin to murmur, whispering a Dark spell, some obscene, shackling curse._

_She unleashes the pain, letting it rage, letting it lash out against them. They fall down like dry leaves, striking the floor like rag dolls. Her hand is strangely cold. She walks between the bodies, picking her way carefully, until she notices a few strands of golden hair._

_Kneeling down, she pulls the mask off Lucius Malfoy, staring into his dead, grey eyes with a warm flush of satisfaction. She twines a few silken strands of blonde through her fingertips, wondering at the feel of it, amazed that anything about this monster could be soft. The gossamer threads trail off and intermingle with the black, greasy hair of the corpse next to him, and she cries out in pain when she realises that she has murdered Severus as well._

* * *

Severus opened the door to his classroom. Even though he was prepared for the devastation, he still winced. It was ruined.

It was late, and he was exhausted, but the fact remained that he had classes the next day, and the classroom needed to be put back to rights. He rubbed his eyes. He almost wished he could ask Sarah for help, but she wasn't well, and he was loathe to wake her should she be sleeping.

He frowned as he thought of how his life had now simplified itself. This was what he had to look forward to...this classroom, an unending parade of dull children, the deadening weight of marking...and the new threat of being the target of nearly every Slytherin. He would always have to be on guard here, in his prison.

"Dear me, Severus, what a mess!" Severus turned to see Filius standing in the doorway with wide eyes. "Poppy mentioned that something had happened to your classroom...oh my." He was staring at the great black puddle that had congealed in front of his desk.

He cursed inwardly for having left the door open. "Yes, a potion...got rather out of hand."

"It should be a relatively simple thing to clean up," said Filius, drawing his wand.

"Yes, but—"

"Ah, Severus," said Pomona, walking into the classroom. "Poppy was right. What a nightmare!"

"I'm certain you both are quite busy," he said, scowling. "You undoubtedly have marking to do, and I was just about to start..."

Minerva entered, and her eyebrows shot up when she saw the wreckage. "We'll help you, Severus," she said firmly.

"I'm fully capable," he said through clenched teeth.

"I'm quite certain you are," she said, "but this will take less time." She smiled at him innocently and walked over to his desk, sidestepping a puddle of goo. "Pomona, Filius, why don't you tackle this...substance on the floor, and Severus and I will work on his desk."

"I hope I'm not intruding," called Silas from the door. "I had heard that you required some assistance."

"Come in!" said Pomona just as Severus was going to tell him to sod off. "We can use the help." Severus fumed.

"What a disaster!" exclaimed Silas, looking around. "Thank goodness there were no students present when it happened."

Severus stormed over to his desk, where Minerva was peering at the pile of broken glass and ingredients.

_Highly illegal _ingredients

Minerva looked up at him, aghast, one hand over her mouth. Severus shook his head negligibly and glanced in Silas's direction. Minerva nodded in understanding. "Silas, if you could just place the desks and chairs back into their places, and repair anything broken," she said.

Silas looked cross, but nodded, his eyes straying towards them. He began to efficiently levitate desks back into place.

"Severus," Minerva hissed. "What are you doing with these?"

He cleared a space on the floor and knelt down, staring at the pile of broken glass and plant and animal materials.

"I'll remove the glass," she said quietly. She flicked her wand expertly, and bottles began to repair themselves and line up on his desk.

Some of the ingredients were near-priceless. Some of them were only used in Dark potions. Some of them were completely ruined. He began to sift through them, putting things to the side, inspecting them with an experienced eye.

Silas began carrying on a loud conversation with Filius about the Ministry investigating certain individuals known to have connections to the Dark Arts. Severus seethed as he knelt next to his desk, and only Minerva's gentle touch to his shoulder prevented him from hauling the ginger-haired nightmare into the hall and subjecting him to a few concise hexes.

As he surveyed the pile, he grew more despondent. Without Lucius's protection, he was vulnerable. Lucius—or anyone, for that matter—could send Aurors into his office at any moment. If they found any of his more esoteric or illegal ingredients he'd be facing a term in Azkaban. He took a long, shaky breath.

Despite his desire to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts, he knew that he was talented at Potions, and he took great pride in his abilities and his cupboard. He was...had been well-supplied and well-connected. But now that he was here, alone, with only the protection of the Headmaster...things had changed. Certainly he had come to Dumbledore of his own free will, seeking an end to the pain he had created. Certainly he understood that the Dark Lord was only a pathway to horror, and not to the things he'd believed that he had wanted years ago. But always, in the back of his mind, he was aware that by belonging to both camps he would be prepared for either victory.

Now there would be no escape hatch. He had only the Order. He would have to accept their dislike of him, and he would have to prepare himself for the difficulties to follow. The Slytherins and their parents would lash out at him. He would have to demonstrate his loyalty to his fellow Order members over and over again, and for a few it would never be enough.

He would have to rid himself of anything that would endanger himself or Hogwarts.

With a trembling hand, he arranged the Dark ingredients—those which could not have any other use—into a small pile. He shuddered to think how many Galleons' worth of materials were there, how difficult they had been to procure, how extraordinarily rare they were. "_Evanesco_," he murmured, and they swirled and vanished. Again he felt Minerva's comforting hand on his shoulder.

He stood up, a bit shakily, and surveyed his desk. There was a large crack running through the centre.

"I'll transfigure it for you," said Minerva, examining it closely. "I think it might be salvageable." Silas peered rather obviously over his shoulder as he put chairs back in place.

"We're nearly finished here," said Filius brightly.

"I hope you'll be more careful in the future," said Silas as he deftly dropped the last chair into place. Severus glared at him.

A few more moments, and the floor was returned to its prior state. Pomona yawned and followed Filius out the door as he excitedly explained plans for a revised Scrubbing Spell.

"Good night, Silas," said Minerva pointedly as she transfigured the desktop.

"Good night," said Silas, leaving reluctantly.

Severus made a gesture, and the door slammed shut behind him. "Blast him," he snarled. "The fool..."

Minerva finished her spellwork and ran a hand over the dark stone surface. She looked up at him. "That was a good decision," she said.

He felt sharply the pangs of loss. "I dared not keep them," he said bitterly. "Many of them have no application except for the Dark Arts."

"Give them nothing to hunt you with," she said firmly. "Play the innocent. There are many who would like to see you in Azkaban."

"I know, Minerva," he said, slumping into a chair. He was so tired.

"I thought you were going to be killed," she said quietly. "I'm so glad that you've returned to us."

He looked up to see tears in her eyes. "Only because of Sarah," he murmured, looking away again.

"I will have to thank her for bringing you back," she added. "Good night, Severus."

"Thank you, Minerva," he said. She nodded and left.

He took a deep breath. The classroom was presentable, at the very least. He rubbed his eyes once more. Time for sleep.


	68. Sleep

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall was a mass of ugly grey clouds, and Sarah felt it pressing down upon her. A headache thrummed behind her forehead. It had been a sleepless night, full of disturbing dreams, and she had finally gone walking in the castle in the early hours just to get away from her bed.

At least something productive had come from her lack of rest; she'd brought the statue down from the storage room into her office and cleaned it up.

She took another half-hearted bite of toast. She could not shake the feeling that it was going to be a difficult day. Her only class contained some of the Death Eaters' sons, and she was not looking forward to facing them again, especially since she was certain that at this point they knew what had happened on Sunday.

Silas had been droning on about House points to Minerva during most of breakfast. Sarah hadn't paid him any attention until he lowered his voice and mentioned Severus. She chanced a quick glance at them. Minerva looked angry and Sarah was a little surprised at the fire in her eyes.

"...but surely you must admit how dangerous he could be," said Silas. "A former Death Eater, teaching children...and stockpiling illegal substances! On the surface he looks exceedingly risky. I can't imagine that the Board of Governors will let him stay on much longer, not with the new rumors that have surfaced."

Aghast, Sarah let the toast fall to the plate. Severus, sacked?

"He's a liability," continued Silas. "I've heard how he bullies his students. He's a menace, Minerva, and he'll bring the school down with him."

"Severus has been a teacher here for many years," said Minerva, frowning. "His students have always scored very well on their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. Regardless of what he looks like on the surface, deep down he is committed to the right things. He is also my friend, and I don't wish to hear any more on this subject."

Silas murmured, "All I am suggesting is that he join the...other one in hiding. It would be safer, after all, both for him and for the Headmaster." Sarah could barely make out his words.

"That is not something I care to discuss at this moment," hissed Minerva, sounding furious.

"Very well, then. But I feel I must mention that nothing good can come of keeping him on as a teacher."

"You've made your point," said Minerva curtly, and went back to her breakfast, scowling.

Sarah had no idea who else would be hiding, or why. She stared at the toast on her plate for a long moment.

If Severus were to be fired, surely she would not be far behind.

She looked out at the students, watching as they chatted and joked and ate. It seemed astonishing that they were so carefree, consumed by study and Quidditch, when she could feel the danger of the real world surrounding the castle like a tangible thing.

Severus entered the hall, and his dark presence struck at her, almost like a well-placed curse. She could hear her own voice in her head saying _I will kill anyone who gets in my way_. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, trying not to think of his dead, black eyes.

"Are you well, Sarah?" asked Silas.

She reopened her eyes to see him staring at her. "Yes," she said. "A little...tired."

"You've gone absolutely chalky," said Minerva, sounding concerned. "Do you need me to find Poppy?"

"No, no," said Sarah. "I'm fine." She took another sip of tea to hide her discomfort.

There was a distinct drop in volume in the hall, and Sarah noticed that many of the Slytherin students were watching Severus, most looking outright mutinous. The expression on his face was cold and distant, except for his eyes, which glittered menacingly as he approached the High Table.

Minerva said something to him as he sat down, and he replied in a rough voice. Silas turned to Sarah. "It is quite interesting to me," he said quietly, "that you've managed to walk away from the Dark Lord's presence, alive. For a second time, in fact."

"Excuse me?" she said, frowning.

"It seems, frankly, preposterous," he said. "He's one of the most powerful wizards in our lifetime. Even Grindelwald—and I've seen Grindelwald in action, mind you—would have fallen before him."

She remained perfectly still. She was aware that he was watching her very closely. "I was lucky."

"Twice?" he said. "That's a rather impressive bit of luck, don't you think?"

"What exactly are you saying?" She met his gaze directly. She hoped that he did not have any skills in Legilimency.

He didn't look away. "It strikes me as unusual that you were able to walk up to the Dark Lord, take what you wanted, and _leave_."

"I...it was not as simple as that." Her face began to grow hot.

"But we don't know that," he said. "I wonder just what you promised, what you _offered_, to allow him to let you leave unscathed."

"You presume too much," she said, biting each word off precisely.

"Do I?" he said, stroking his goatee. "Do I really? I'm not certain. You willingly left the protection of Hogwarts, and went directly to the Dark Lord, and I must say I'm perplexed at how you found him so easily." His watery blue eyes were watching her keenly. "There is very little that would drive a person to voluntarily face him. I can think of few legitimate reasons."

"I did it because I was frightened for Severus," she snapped. "I did it because he is a brave man, and deserved a better fate than to be torn apart by those—_savages_." Looking past him, she realised that both Severus and Minerva were staring at her. She suddenly felt sick, and wished that no one knew what she had done. "Excuse me," she said angrily, standing up and putting her napkin on the table. "I must return to my office." She left the table, feeling angry and frightened.

* * *

"I overheard them talking about Snape," said Ron, sitting down next to Harry.

Hermione looked up from her book. "Who?"

"The Slytherins," he said. "I think they found out about him."

Harry speared a bit of egg on his fork, and craned his neck to look at the High Table, where Snape sat, staring past McGonagall at Marten and Tanner, who looked as if they were arguing. He looked back at his friends.

"What did they say?" asked Hermione.

"Something about him being a traitor," he said, beginning to fill up his plate. "There wasn't enough time to unroll an Extendable Ear."

Harry watched as Professor Tanner walked past the Slytherin table. Malfoy stared at Tanner with a look of anger on his face. "They must know that Tanner helped him," he said. Ron shrugged and began to eat. Hermione looked lost in thought.

"You've been saying you'll tell us what's going on," said Ginny, "but you never seem to get around to it."

"We still don't have a...quiet place to meet," answered Hermione.

"I think we do," said Harry. Hermione looked at him quizzically.

* * *

The day had been tense so far. Severus knew the entire Slytherin table was watching him as he walked out of the Great Hall. His first class had been relatively quiet, but the class before lunch had contained Slytherins, and he had seen anger plainly on a few faces.

He walked through the entrance hall, and he thought anew of his now-unblemished forearm. The faint warmth that had returned with the Dark Lord's rebirth had cooled. For years he had woken in the night, dreaming that the Mark had returned, and breathing in relief when it hadn't. But he had known it was inevitable, that one day it would turn black and reveal itself, forcing him to return to the Dark Lord's side. That his nightmare had ended and that he was still alive was almost impossible to believe.

At the top of the stairs to the dungeon he hesitated. There were essays to mark, potion ingredients to organise, but for some reason he didn't want to return. The private cupboard in his office was a disaster, and he dreaded looking at it, knowing how much it would rankle to see so many precious ingredients gone, so many possibilities now closed.

It also bothered him that he would never again receive a private message from Lucius, as he often did on Tuesdays, having no class during the afternoon. There would never be another invitation to Malfoy Manor. He would never again enjoy the company of Lucius Malfoy, or see the icy beauty of Narcissa.

He didn't want to go to the staffroom, either, to endure the looks and whispering of the other staff.

Before he had even clearly thought of it, he was striding towards Sarah's office. He knocked on her door and then opened it.

She looked up in surprise from her desk, which had several items scattered about on it. Her hands were bloody. "Ah, Severus, I wasn't expecting anyone," she said, looking distracted.

He closed the door behind him and then approached her desk, trying to tamp down the slight wave of revulsion from seeing her blood. Bits of shell, silk cord, and chain were scattered about. A grey gemstone the size of his thumb sat next to a tiny mother-of-pearl button. "What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to make a new amulet," she said, looking discouraged.

"A new amulet?"

"The amulet I used to wear was...handed over to one of the Death Eaters when I exchanged myself for the students a month ago."

He sat down on the couch. "I see," he said quietly.

"It was a rather potent one. I wish I still had it. Now that I am here at Hogwarts, I no longer have access to the raw materials I need to create another of the same caliber," she said. She absently poked at a blob of silver on her desk with her short wand. "And I find it a bit more challenging to concentrate now."

"Because you aren't using the Painstone," he said.

"Yes." He noticed the dark circles under her eyes, and her unusual paleness. "I've been thinking," she said slowly, "about your potions case...the one that was left behind when...when I...the other day. The potions...were there many poisons in the case?"

He had been thinking that day of the very same thing, truth be told. "Yes, but they'll find the labels rather difficult to decipher."

"Your shorthand," she said wonderingly.

"Yes," he said, smirking. "A few of the healing potions are rather easy to pick out, as are a few of the harmful potions, but many others look identical and yet have opposite results. Only another potion maker will be able to identify some of the vials, and it could take months."

"There was a potion maker in Poland," she said haltingly.

"The source for your Strengthening Solution."

"Yes." She looked worried. "He's the one who told the Dark Lord about me, while I was in hiding. I was barely able to escape Poland...that's when I knew I had to find Dumbledore. If he's still working with the Dark Lord...he'll be certain to analyse your potions, and..." She took a deep breath. "The antidote you made for me...you don't think he could reconstruct the original potion from it, do you? You said that the Granger girl wouldn't be able to, but she is just a student. He is an experienced brewer."

"There is a chance that he could somehow put the potion together," he said, thinking. "But there is an ingredient involved that is nearly impossible to procure."

"I don't think...I couldn't bear it, again. Not ever. If _he_ ever possessed it again, I would..." She trailed off, and he could see the fear in her eyes.

"He would need a section of Lethifold flesh, prepared in an exacting method," he said. "But it's almost impossible to obtain. It was only through Lucius's connections at the Ministry that I had access to it, and I used all they had."

Some of the fright diminished, but she still looked unsure. "To be free of pain," she murmured, "and to be able to move without hindrance...I feel like I have a new life."

He only nodded, uncertain of what to say. They both sat in silence for several moments.

She sighed and spelled the blood off her hands. Flicking her wand a few times, she sent most of the items on her desk back into an open wooden box. The blob of silver remained seated in a small pool of blood, and she stared at it critically.

"Is it supposed to look like that?" he asked.

"No," she said wearily. "It was originally shaped like a bird, but my concentration wavered and I ended up crushing it."

"You look as if you haven't slept well," he said. He was surprised to see something flickering rather strongly in her eyes, something that resembled his own face, with dead, staring eyes. "Nightmares?"

"Yes," she said, nearly inaudibly. "Nightmares."

Her fatigue, her words at the table earlier...he felt somehow almost protective of her, and to see her so worn and stressed made him uncomfortable. "I know that you've refused them before, but I have a potion that would help," he said. Instead of declining outright, as she had, she looked at him with a glimmer of hope. "It is a modified version of the Draught of the Living Death, and it will give you an entire night's rest with no dreams. It's extremely powerful. I wouldn't recommend taking it often, but it might be of help to you."

"I think—I think I'd like that," she said haltingly.

"I'll retrieve it from my office." It took only a moment for him to head down the stairs to his private cupboard and find the vial. Upon returning to her, he noticed an odd statue sitting on a pedestal near the door. "What's this?" he said, curious.

"Hmm? Oh, a statue I found in a storeroom." She turned the bit of silver over in her hand and looked at it closely. "I thought I'd put it out in the corridor after I cast a few spells on it."

"What kind of spells?"

"Watching spells," she murmured.

"Are you worried that something might happen?"

"Yes," she said. "I've attacked several of the students' fathers. I doubt that fact has gone unnoticed. I'm not as worried about the younger students, but some are nearly adults. The Dark Lord is powerful once again. He's drawing new followers, I have no doubt of that, and I am certain he'll pull a few of the students to his side."

"As much as I would like to believe that none of them will attempt to cause harm, there's always that possibility," he said. He paused for a moment, watching her spell the blood off the surface of the desk and put down the piece of silver. "Here's the potion," he said, handing her the vial. "It acts almost instantly, so I would recommend lying down first. It should provide eight hours of sleep, though, in your case, it would be wise to factor in another hour or two."

"Then I should take it now," she said. "Thank you, Severus." She stood up slowly and walked to the door leading into her private room, opening it with one hand. Stripping off her robe with a bit of difficulty, she pushed the covers back and got in bed.

"It appears that you need more Scar Reducing Salve," he said, frowning.

"I suppose I do," she said, pulling out the cork. "I hadn't thought about it."

"What you told Silas this morning," he said quietly. "Was that why you went after...why you faced the Dark Lord?"

She looked at him, her pale eyes filled with a jangle of emotions. "Among other things," she said in a soft voice. Lifting the vial to her lips, she drained it, and was asleep almost immediately, her brown hair dark against the pillow.

He stood and watched her, the lines of worry and fear slowly stealing away from her face as she relaxed into unnatural sleep, and he felt something finally give inside of him that he hadn't known was there.


	69. Front Page News

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Severus had barely taken his seat at the Head Table when Aurora thrust the day's _Daily Prophet_ in his hand. "I haven't even poured my tea," he said irritably.

"Breakfast can wait," she said ominously.

He glanced at the headline, and his blood ran cold.

_Hogwarts Teachers Suspected of Dark Magic_. He turned to look at her in shock. Aurora had a grim expression on her face. "It gets worse," she said. "Read it."

He scanned it quickly, his scowl deepening. Though the article didn't contain any names, it hinted broadly enough that any reader would know who the suspects were. There was a worrying amount of detail involved, and his breath caught as he read a sentence that neatly implied that he had been a willing follower of the Dark Lord, and still might be, and another that claimed that Sarah's past was less than pristine.

Lucius had already made the first move. Lucius, and someone at Hogwarts. Draco, or Silas, or Nott...any of them could have leaked this information. Severus gave the paper back to Aurora and tried to unclench his jaw. This was only the beginning. He heard Pomona say something in a hushed tone to Aurora.

"What are you going to do?" asked Aurora, turning back to look at him.

"The papers can say what they like," he said, sneering.

"And Sarah?"

His felt a pang of worry. "She is fully capable of handling her own affairs."

"If she's involved in the Dark Arts..."

"What _exactly _are you saying?" he said coldly.

Aurora looked worried. "I don't know," she said finally. "There's just so much going on...and with You-Know-Who gathering power and allies...I just wonder about her."

He went absolutely still for a moment. "You think Sarah is his _ally_?" he asked angrily. "I suggest that you keep your _wondering_ limited to things that you might actually know about, like _planets_."

"That wasn't what I was suggesting at all." She glared at him. "The parents are going to be in an uproar when they read this. She's drawn too much attention to herself, and she's put a lot of pressure on the school."

"The Headmaster will support her," he said, unclenching his hands and pouring a cup of tea. "I see no further reason to discuss this."

Aurora frowned and turned back to Pomona, who shrugged.

His breakfast was ruined. He barely ate more than a few bites before he stormed back to his classroom.

His morning class went no better. The Slytherins watched him and whispered behind his back, and only the threat of docking points quieted them. The centre of his back itched every time he turned to add something to the board.

He sat down and spent the last ten minutes of class worrying about the article, until he resolved to see Silas during the break and try to flush him out. It was a rather direct tactic, but it might work.

The bell rang, and he strode off down the halls. Finding Silas's door, he opened it forcefully, not bothering to knock.

Silas's office was quite tidy and lined with an assortment of plaques praising his teaching methods, his Defence skills, and the achievements of his students. Severus scowled as the ginger-haired man greeted him cheerily. "What brings you to my office on this morning?"

Severus gestured, and the door closed. "Spoken to anyone interesting lately?" Severus asked casually. "Perhaps you've had a memorable conversation with one of the teachers...or a house-elf...or the _Daily Prophet_..."

"Ah," said Silas, his smile growing even wider. "You've seen the article. You think I leaked information about you to the press. That explains this unexpected visit."

Severus sat down in one of the chairs, keeping his expression neutral. "Not taking credit for such a thorough exposé? I'm surprised, really."

"I haven't."

"Yes, I saw that their source was anonymous."

"I mean I haven't leaked any information."

"It wasn't you who mentioned my assortment of...what was it...'highly illegal and extremely dangerous substances'?" Severus frowned. "And Sarah...what about 'the echoes of Dark Magic possibly in her past'? Nearly poetic. I was impressed."

"A woman from the _Prophet_ interviewed me, yes," he said, crossing his arms and resting his elbows on the desk in front of him. "But I said none of those things. It was an interview about Hogwarts and my students."

"Exercising discretion, Silas? How surprising."

"I don't care what you think of me, Severus. You're a Dark Wizard, whether the Headmaster believes it or not, as is your paramour, and you won't convince me otherwise. Your opinion, as such, is worthless."

"She is not my paramour," he said coolly, "and neither of us actively practices the Dark Arts."

"She's a Sanguimagus," said Silas flatly. "She uses a Dark Artefact of some sort. My Dark Detectors have sensed it before. The sooner she leaves Hogwarts, the better."

"She's not leaving Hogwarts. In fact, she will be presenting herself to the Order on Saturday."

"Yes, I've heard," said Silas, frowning. "I've tried to explain her obvious unsuitability to the Headmaster, but he seems quite set on allowing her the chance."

"She would be of more use to the Order than a hundred of you." Severus sneered at him.

"Don't be ridiculous." He looked affronted. "She can't be trusted. You've let your emotional involvement cloud your judgment. And if we're speaking now of those who are of use, then you might want to examine your own role closely now that your double life has been exposed."

"Yes, and you would know how to _expertly_ assess contribution, being such a vital part of the organisation. Tell me, have you contributed anything at all besides a bit of light entertainment since you've joined?"

Silas flushed. "I don't need to justify my place in the Order to you."

"Only to the Headmaster," said Severus. "I doubt that he'll take kindly to your article."

"As I explained before, it is not my article. I suggest you look to your own House for that." He smiled nastily. "While it still _is_ your House."

"Don't be absurd," spat Severus. "Only the Headmaster has the power to appoint or remove a Head of House."

"The Headmaster...or the Board of Governors."

Severus suddenly felt ill. He stood up. "Stay away from the _Daily Prophet_."

"Had you heeded my advice and stayed away from Sarah Tanner, you would have little to fear from the _Prophet_," said Silas, stroking his goatee.

"I highly doubt that," snarled Severus. "You have been a thorn—"

"Again, _I_ had nothing to do with the article, as I have said. I am merely pointing out that your involvement with her compromised your position as a spy within You-Know-Who's organisation and led to your eventual expulsion, thus losing the Order's only direct source of information. Had you left her alone, there would likely be little in the papers about you, because you would still be in your double role."

"There were a number of things that could have led to the end of my mission," said Severus. "I was under rather heavy scrutiny—"

"Hence, the need for further caution," said Silas. "But instead, you slipped up, due to Sarah's involvement."

Severus had been seen bringing Sarah to the castle after she had been injured, a direct contradiction to what he had told the Dark Lord afterward, and it had been one of the primary reasons he had been caught. "_I_ am not on trial here," he seethed.

"Perhaps you should be," said Silas.

They both stared at each other for a moment until Severus whirled around and left, angry beyond words.

* * *

Consciousness was slow in returning. Sarah knew she was in her bed at Hogwarts, but she had the strangest feeling, as if the castle was breathing, inhaling and exhaling, slowly and rhythmically. She floated on a grey sea, calm and smooth, mist surrounding her, the faint taste of salt on her tongue.

The feelings faded, and she struggled to open her eyes, only to slip into a dream about marking essays. She woke again, and her body responded sluggishly to her attempts to sit up. Her eyes felt as if they had been petrified. She rubbed at them half-heartedly.

She blinked a few times, and looked around. She had slept for a very long time; it was well after breakfast.

She would have to thank Severus for his potion. Hours of dreamless, sweet slumber, a sleep that had restored her.

She got out of bed, still feeling groggy, and realised that she was quite hungry. A quick charm or two, her winter robes, her worn leather boots, and she emerged into the office, feeling better than she had in months. A tray sat on her desk, complete with breakfast, and she smiled, once again impressed with the house-elves.

After her late breakfast she made her way to her classroom, bringing up the lesson for the day and finding the correct stack of essays. The door opened, and students began to trickle in. As the last was seated, the bell chimed, and she waited a moment for them to open their books and settle in.

Only they seemed hesitant, which was a bit odd. This was a seventh year class, filled mostly with overachieving Slytherins and Gryffindors who wanted an extra subject, despite the lack of N.E.W.T involved. Many of them were staring at her outright, and some were whispering. There were even a few missing.

"What is going on?" she demanded.

There was another long pause, and then Miss Roberts brought a _Daily Prophet_ up to the desk and handed it to her wordlessly.

Outwardly she did not react when she scanned the headline. Inwardly, she cringed. At this rate she would have the shortest employment ever of any teacher at Hogwarts. She placed the paper on her desk and flicked her wand to the board. "Today's lesson will involve a review of proper Purposing, as we're going to cover doubling an amulet's Purpose next week. If you've read chapter eight, then you'll understand the basic—"

"Professor Tanner?" said Miss Roberts uneasily. "Aren't you going to, well..."

"If you are referring to the article," said Sarah coolly, "then I feel that I must point out that it has nothing to do with defensive talismans. As I was saying...understanding the basic principles behind Purposing is very simple. Purposing—"

"It says you're a Dark Witch!" Miss Roberts blurted out.

Sarah frowned. "What I am is your Talismans instructor." The girl looked upset. "I am going to teach you about preparing for double Purposing now, and I expect no further interruptions." She turned back to the board and heard the sound of books being opened.

"An amulet is a precise piece of work, and requires concentration, as you all know. An amulet with more than one Purpose requires far more than twice the concentration, however." She began to lecture the class, noticing that most were not paying attention to her words, and were regarding her nervously.

The end of class couldn't have come soon enough. She couldn't help but wonder if it was her last lecture.

Released from their seats, the students scrambled to get out of her classroom. She made her way to the Great Hall for lunch, and most students gave her a wide berth.

The Head Table was rather quiet. She took her accustomed seat, and found that someone had left a copy of the article on her plate. She looked it over again, paying particular attention to the wording this time. It did not name her outright, but there were enough clues to make it obvious that it was referring to her, and that she was a Sanguimagus. She poured herself some tea, wondering what the next move would be.

"Wonderful day we're having," said Minerva, apparently determined to end the uneasy silence.

"Quite," said Silas. "Remarkably warm for October, though that will change by the end of the week, mark my words."

"What do you think, Severus?" asked Minerva. "Snow?" He made an irritable noise. "Yes, I quite agree...it will snow this weekend."

"There's nothing like a dusting of snow to bring out the child in us all," said Silas fondly.

"For some it takes a great deal less than others," said Severus smoothly. Silas glared at him.

"Have you heard what's happened at the Ministry?" asked Minerva. Severus looked at her. "You'll be interested in this, I'm certain. After all, it's the sort of ingredient Potions brewers dream about." She smiled at him. "A Lethifold has been captured! The first one in over a hundred years."

Sarah's teacup struck the saucer with a horrible cracking noise. Tea sloshed over the rim, soaking the tablecloth. There was a horrible pressure on her chest, crushing the air from her lungs, and she could not seem to take a breath.

"What's the matter?" asked Minerva, concerned.

"I'm fine," Sarah croaked. She hid her shaking hands in her lap quickly. "I just...I'm fine." She looked over to see Severus staring at her, his expression shuttered, his eyes alive with fear for a brief moment.

_Jacek will be able to brew the Lingering Wounds potion._

It was like a burning brand in her mind. The freedom she had felt after years of blood, pain, and the horror of the Painstone would disintegrate. She took careful, calming breaths. She was at Hogwarts, last bastion of Albus Dumbledore. A more well-protected place she could not imagine, though that did not immediately make her feel better.

"I can well understand why you feel such panic," said Silas. "Lethifolds are frightening creatures. But take heart...they are normally found only in South America. It's rare to see one..."

Sarah only stared at her hands, still trembling in her lap, as Silas droned on, oblivious to her disinterest. _It is only a matter of time_, she thought. _He—Lucius—will come for me again._


	70. Messages

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Harry knocked on Tanner's door again, but there was no answer. "Did she forget?" wondered Ron aloud.

"Try her office door," suggested Ginny. Harry walked down the hall to the next door and knocked.

After a few moments the door swung open, revealing Professor Tanner, who looked rather distracted. "Yes?"

"Professor Tanner, our DA meeting is tonight," he said.

She blinked. "Meeting? Tonight?" Harry nodded. She looked confused for a moment. "I apologise. Now that you mention it, I remember." She motioned for them to follow her into the classroom. Harry glanced around as he and the rest of the DA walked through her office. It looked much the same as it had the last time he'd seen it, except that her desk was cluttered.

The classroom was cold, and Ginny lit the fire while Neville began to move desks and chairs. Professor Tanner sat down at her desk, seemingly lost in her thoughts.

"Tonight I'd like to talk about Voldemort," announced Harry loudly. With a crash, Neville dropped the desk he was levitating, and even Ginny turned to look at him, surprised. "He's getting stronger and stronger," continued Harry. "I think you should all hear what he's up to. Most of you read the article last year in the _Quibbler_. Some of you know what happened in the Ministry of Magic..." Tanner was staring at him now, looking puzzled. "Tonight I want to take the DA one step further. We've been keeping in contact with Fred and George, and they've agreed to host a DA meeting at their shop over the winter holiday." He took a deep breath. "We need to be ready to face Voldemort. What happened in the Ministry of Magic was just the beginning. We're in a war now, and I think that we can make a difference."

There was silence for a moment, and then Ginny nodded. "I'm with you, Harry," she said confidently.

"I'm with you," said Hermione as well, though she looked worried and glanced in Tanner's direction.

"I'm with you, too," said Neville and Ron, nearly simultaneously. One by one, the rest of the DA spoke their agreement, and Harry felt warm inside.

* * *

Lucius had purchased Severus's last travel case. It had been meticulously crafted from the finest dragon hide. It had contained precisely spelled compartments, and his initials had been stitched in expensive non-flammable thread on the side. It had also cost the same as a year's teaching salary. Severus tried not to think of where it was now, and what was being done with its contents.

Severus carefully examined his new potions travel case. He could not afford anything so extravagant, and had purchased instead a more economical version. He'd already bottled several crucial potions and had set up cauldrons to make some of the advanced healing draughts; by the winter holiday the case would be, if not as complete as before, at least sufficiently stocked.

He placed another vial inside and picked up his list. There was an impatient tapping at the window, and he waved his hand absently to open the window and admit the messenger. Peering at the list, he checked off an item as the bird landed on his worktable.

Looking up, he was shocked to see Lucius's eagle owl. It stared at him reproachfully for a moment before dropping a heavy parchment envelope onto the stone surface of his worktable. It flew away quickly, as if it could not stand to be in his presence a moment longer than necessary. Severus closed the window, but the chill air lingered.

He picked it up. The creamy parchment bore the Malfoy crest pressed into dark green wax. He knew already what was within it, as he himself had sent the very same type of missive to Regulus years ago, and his heart squeezed painfully as he opened it with hands that shook a little. There was a single, blank sheet of paper inside.

Slowly the word _Traitor_ appeared, written in Lucius's elegant handwriting. The final 'r' was strangely smudged, as if the hand writing it had been unsteady.

The black ink slowly faded away, to be replaced by the glittering green image of the Dark Mark, the snake baring its fangs menacingly. Underneath it swam the words, 'You'll Be Next', this time in Nott's handwriting, and Severus felt sick inside. They had been his friends, and even though he had betrayed them for the right reasons, he still had betrayed them. He tossed the parchment into the fire just as it predictably burst into black flames.

* * *

Sarah stood at the edge of the railing and watched as a staircase lazily realigned itself. Here, in the dark of night, in the near silence, she could feel the tremendous power of the castle. So many people had left their mark within its walls. Though it had been many, many years she could still sense Salazar's potent touch; his magic had a unique feel to it that was quite unmistakable, much like the Headmaster's.

Her fingers rested on cold marble, and absently she traced a bit of worn filigree, wondering who the crafter had been. Which somehow brought her thought back to Severus, the crafter of her old pain. She grimaced at that. All evening she had tried to think of anything but his awful poison, and all evening she had failed, except for an hour or two when she had listened intently to Potter's surprising tale.

Her mind could not be distracted from the thought of his poison; it circled around and around in her thoughts. The potion could be brewed again. It could be applied again. Lucius. Jacek. Pain.

There was a noise behind her, the soft scuff of a boot, and she tensed. "Yes?"

"Professor Tanner?"

A student. She almost felt relieved that it was not Severus. She turned slowly to see Nott standing there, a calculating look on his face. "It is rather late," she said neutrally.

"I was just getting back to my dorm," he said lightly, not offering any excuse. He stared at her for a long moment, and she wondered if she should take points. "Actually, I've been meaning to speak with you about a matter..." He was doing his best to look casual, but there was an undercurrent of both arrogance and unease to his words that made her suspicious.

"Speak, then."

He looked around nervously. "Perhaps we could find somewhere else..."

"Either speak to me about your matter or return to your dorm."

He glanced one last time down the hallway that he had presumably emerged from, and then stepped closer to her. "I've been given a message to pass along to you."

"From whom?"

The closer he came, the bolder he looked. He showed her an envelope bearing the Dark Mark.

"An offer," she said.

"Yes," he said, looking surprised, though it faded quickly. "I—here." He drew closer and held it out toward her.

"You've already read it," she said, noticing the broken wax. "Tell me what it says."

He flushed and looked around again. Turning back to her, he pitched his voice for her ears alone. "The Dark Lord is offering you a place with the Death Eaters," he said.

_Ah, he seeks to flush the game from its hiding place_. "Really."

"He says that he can protect you from Mister—from Lucius." She froze. "You would be safe. He says that he knows of your previous arrangement, and would be willing to duplicate it, at least in part, in return for your knowledge and services."

_In return for my slavery and the use of the Painstone._ "I must refuse," she said calmly.

"He won't be so generous in the future," he said, appearing affronted. "You'll never get a better offer."

"I have said no."

"If that is your decision..." he said, looking peeved.

"Yes," she said, with some bite. She wondered what the next move should be. Send him back to the dorm? Would that make him even more arrogant, that he had threatened her and not been punished?

He took a step closer. "I have something to ask of you as well."

"Another offer?"

"Of a sort," he said. He looked excited and frightened all at once. "I want you to teach me blood magic."

She wasn't entirely surprised. "That doesn't seem like an offer."

He was nearly as tall as she was, and he was staring into her eyes, his own lit with intensity. "Will you teach me?"

"No."

"I know things," he said softly. "Things about you that you don't want anyone else to know. Things that will get you fired, or worse—thrown out of Hogwarts, or into Azkaban."

"Am I to understand that you are threatening me?" she said calmly.

"I'm only telling you the consequences of your decision to say no," he said, one corner of his mouth turning up slightly.

She regarded him for a long moment. "I find it rather difficult to believe that you are in possession of such information. You might be bluffing."

He flushed again. "You're a Sanguimagus," he said in a nasty tone of voice.

"As any astute reader of the _Prophet_ could have guessed," she said dismissively. "You'll have to do better than that."

He seemed angry, but she could also see that he was still mentally on his feet. "You have a Painstone."

"Ah," she said.

Bold again, he smiled nastily. "A Memory Charm won't help you, either. There's a Pensieve...it holds all of the relevant thoughts, and it's hidden in a safe place. Don't think that you can make me forget what I know."

"My answer is still no."

His eyes narrowed. "The Dark Lord knows where to strike. Snape is just as vulnerable as you are, and not nearly as useful any longer. Teach me and I'll see to it that he's left alone."

She almost laughed, though her stomach had turned to ice. "Severus can take care of himself." She paused. "Do you think you have that power? Do you think you can bend the Dark Lord to your will, dictate to him which person shall or shall not be his victim?"

"I want to learn," he said heatedly. "I want to learn blood magic. You'll teach it to me, or I'll see to it that he's killed."

"Then I'll just have to kill you." She held his gaze.

For a second he looked as if he would laugh, and then he became pale. "You can't."

"Can't?" she said. "An incorrect word choice. Of course I can."

"I'm a student—you can't—Dumbledore will—"

"Do you really think the Headmaster will care, once he's seen the Dark Mark on your arm?" His face was almost white now. "As for me, I will hide even more thoroughly than you can imagine."

"You're bluffing. There is no way you could..." He was sweating.

"We are at an impasse. There is nothing to be gained from further conversation. Either you will act out on your threat, or I will act out on mine. I have a feeling that mine is, by far, the simpler of the two." She smiled coldly. "You should return to your dorm."

He stood absolutely still for a long moment, and she was motionless as well, waiting for his response. She did not want to think of the repercussions that were sure to follow if he attacked her. Despite her bravado, she knew that there would be serious difficulties should she cause him harm. He gave the barest of nods, and backed away until he had all but disappeared in the dim light of the hallway.

The stack of worries that kept her awake at night seemed to be increasing. She wondered how the Headmaster slept at all.


	71. Confessions: Part One

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

**Chapter Seventy-One: Confessions: Part One**

hr 

Severus walked swiftly up to the doors of Hogwarts, his mind whirling. The Order meeting had progressed to the last item on the agenda, and the Headmaster had sent him to fetch Sarah for the Order's interview and vote on her acceptance. He scowled as he strode across the entrance hall, and the few students loitering there suddenly found they had to be somewhere else rather quickly.

He felt a shiver of apprehension pass through him as he stopped at Sarah's office door. Privately he had told the Headmaster that he felt there was no possible way that Sarah would be voted into the Order; it was an exercise in futility. Being a Sanguimagus would be too much for them to accept. He knocked and opened the door.

Sarah was sitting at her desk with an expression of concentration on her face that changed to surprise as she looked up. "Time has passed more swiftly than I realised," she murmured. The misshapen silver pendant was on her desk, and she touched it with the tip of her wand once more, the expression on her face pensive.

"Are you prepared?" he asked.

She stood up, slipping her wand in her pocket. "Yes," she said quietly.

There was a rush of cold air from the corridor as he opened her door again, and she followed him out. "Your cloak," he said. "It's snowing out. Quickly, we haven't much time."

"I don't have one." She flushed slightly.

"I'll get my spare," he said, turning and walking swiftly to the dungeons, cursing inwardly at the delay. His extra cloak was in the wardrobe, and he summoned it, giving it a quick airing with his wand. He raced back up to find her waiting at the doors, and he handed it to her.

"Thank you," she said, pulling it over her shoulders and hooking the clasp. It was a bit too long for her, but he didn't have time to transfigure it. As he opened the door he noticed Nott staring at them from the marble stairs.

The snow had just begun to fall, and they walked into the forest in silence. The overcast sky gave the trees a gloomy air and increased his feelings of unease. Her eyes were filled with worry as he offered her his arm. "I shall Apparate us to the location," he said quietly, and she nodded.

The cold air swirled about him as he concentrated on Grimmauld Place, and when the noise and sensation had faded he opened his eyes. Sarah's arm was still threaded through his, and her other hand gripped his forearm. "We're here," he said, carefully pulling his arm free. He fumbled in the pocket of his cloak for the scrap of parchment the Headmaster had given him.

She took it in hand, frowning as she read the address. "A Fidelius Charm," she murmured, looking up at the house curiously.

"They're expecting us," he reminded her, and she began to walk towards the old stone steps. "The entryway...there's a portrait of the former owner, and she's rather ill-tempered, so it's best if you're quiet." He tapped the door with his wand. It opened, the hinges grating, and she took a tentative step in. She looked even more wan than usual in the gloomy glow of the gaslights in the foyer.

Lupin was waiting for them, and the corner of his mouth quirked up as he looked pointedly at the cloak she wore. "Hello Sarah," he said pleasantly. She turned toward him, an expression of puzzlement on her face. "It's a pleasure to see you again. I'm not sure if you remember, but we had Transfiguration classes together." He took a step closer after glancing in the direction of Mrs. Black's painting.

"Transfiguration..." she mused. She was quiet for a long moment. "Your name...Romulus? No, wait...Remus."

"Yes. I can take...your cloak," he said, the faintest grin appearing, "and if you're ready, we're all waiting for you." She put one hand to the clasp but paused, turning to look at Severus hesitantly, and then back to Lupin, who approached her with one hand outstretched. Severus took his own cloak off and was just about to send it to a side room when she suddenly took a panicky step backwards and collided solidly with him, nearly pushing him into the troll leg and knocking it over. He grabbed hastily for it and just managed to stop its fall.

"You're a lycanthrope," she said in horror.

Severus turned to see a look of sadness flit across Lupin's face. "Yes," he said.

"In school—those days you were sick—you were a werewolf, even then." She was no longer pushing back against Severus, and he rebalanced the troll leg.

"Yes." Lupin paused for a moment. "May I ask how you guessed so quickly?"

"Your blood is infected." Her hand went back to the clasp and opened it. Severus took the cloak from her and sent both of them to the side room.

"Ah," said Lupin softly. "You seemed shocked; Severus must not have..."

"...warned her of you?" said Severus, sneering. "I should have."

"You are...part of the Order, then?" asked Sarah.

"Yes," said Lupin. "I've been a member of the Order since its beginning, when Voldemort first came to power." He looked at Severus, smiling infuriatingly.

"Time is wasting while we contemplate your _virtues_, Lupin," said Severus coolly.

Lupin stared at him for a moment longer, but then nodded. "If you'll follow me," he said, turning towards the back of the house.

She took a deep breath, and looked at Severus. "Shall we?" he said. She nodded and they walked into the kitchen.

"Molly, if you would cast another charm on the door," said Lupin.

"Where is the Headmaster?" asked Severus, noticing the empty seat at the head of the table and suddenly feeling uneasy.

"He was called to an emergency meeting at the Ministry," said Minerva.

Severus could feel his stomach clench. Without the Headmaster it was entirely futile. He wondered if they would even let her speak.

"We've decided to go ahead with the interview and the vote, despite his absence," said Silas, and there was a calculating look to his face that Severus did not like at all.

"Albus left his vote with Remus already," added Minerva.

Molly Weasley finished casting an Imperturbable Charm on the door. Most of the Order were seated at the long wooden table; Lupin was seated in the Headmaster's chair at the head of the table. Sarah hesitated for a moment, and then took the opposite way around to the two empty chairs in the middle of the far side, and Severus sat down next to her.

"Our next order of business is to decide whether or not to include Sarah as a member," said Lupin. "Could you introduce yourself, please?"

"My name is Sarah Elizabeth Tanner," said Sarah. She appeared calm, but Severus knew her well enough to see the subtle signs of her unease. "I attended Hogwarts and worked for the Ministry at one time. I believe that I would be of assistance to your Order."

"That's for us to decide," said Moody. "I have questions I want answered first."

Kingsley sat across from Severus, nodding. Silas sat to Kingsley's right, and Severus narrowed his eyes as Silas stroked his goatee. "Perhaps a bit of history would be helpful," suggested Emmeline Vance. "After all, some of us know little...or nothing...about you."

"She's a Sanguimagus," said Moody.

Emmeline stared at Sarah. "A Sanguimagus?" she echoed, looking nervous.

"What exactly is a Sanguimagus?" asked Bill Weasley, frowning.

"The Sanguimagi work magic with blood," said Emmeline. "At least, that's what I've heard."

"I thought they died out years ago," said Molly.

"Salazar was a Sanguimagus," said Moody gruffly.

"What does the blood _do_, exactly?" asked Bill, looking puzzled.

All eyes turned to Sarah. "Blood magic is a primitive form of magic," she explained. She paused, and then seemed to realise that she was expected to continue. "Witches and wizards couldn't...they had no method of casting spells directly, at first. Someone discovered the secret of using blood, which carries some of a wizard's power.

"There were certain wizards and witches who seemed to have better control over their blood than others. They called themselves the Sanguimagi. They began to experiment with blood, both their own, and that of others. While they were exploring the limits of blood magic, other wizards were creating the first wands, which were greatly superior to blood magic. The Sanguimagi were reluctant to give up their art, however, and continued to practice it, creating a schism between the two groups.

"Blood magic has many limitations. Many of the spells require physical contact. It is much more tiring than wand magic. It requires a source, which, even if it is not your own blood, is still draining. It loses effectiveness quickly over distances. Most spells can be performed faster and with fewer difficulties with a wand."

"Why use it at all, then?" asked Bill.

"There are some things that can be accomplished with blood magic that cannot be accomplished any other way," she said slowly. "And if one is a Sanguimagus—"

"Wait...anyone can perform blood magic?" asked Emmeline.

Sarah nodded. "The basic spells are very simple. Anything more complicated, however, requires a...deeper control over the power in blood, and for that you must have a predisposition—"

"So not just anyone can be a Sanguimagus," said Silas thoughtfully. "How is it that you became one?"

"It might be better if Sarah explained her background first," said Emmeline. "I think that all of these random questions are distracting us from the purpose. I'd like to hear her story and find out more about her life."

Lupin nodded. "I agree. Sarah? Would you mind? Perhaps you could begin with what happened once you left Hogwarts."

Sarah looked hesitant, but began to speak. "I left Hogwarts and began to work for the Committee on Experimental Charms. I ended up being...unable to work and—"

"'Unable to work'?" said Moody with a snort. "There's more to that."

She stole a quick glance at Severus, and he understood, then, that she had been trying to avoid speaking of the attack. He gave her the barest of nods. Most of what he had done was already known to the Order, after all.

"Sarah, we can't judge whether or not you are a good candidate for the Order unless you are truly honest with us," said Emmeline.

Sarah looked down at her hands for a long moment. When she looked up again, there was a look of determination on her face. "I will tell you, then. But I must have your assurance...your promise that any information you hear tonight will be kept in confidence, and that you will not seek any legal action against me for what I reveal to you."

Some of the Order members looked puzzled; others looked taken aback.

"I promise," said Lupin. "I will keep this information confidential."

"I will, as well," said Minerva firmly.

A few of the other Order members also agreed, and Sarah waited, looking tense, as the rest spoke their promise, some more reluctantly than others. Silas sounded irritated as he said the words.

"We have all agreed," said Lupin. "Now, if you would continue?"

Sarah nodded, and was quiet for a moment, and Severus could see that she was still uncertain about sharing her story. "While I was in my seventh year at Hogwarts," she said haltingly, "my mother was killed. She worked for the Ministry, in the Magical Creatures Department. She was fluent in the giants' language, and often spoke with them, especially about Ministry business. It became clear that they were fighting for the Dark Lord, but she wouldn't give up on them. She felt that they could still help the Ministry, and that she could convince them to turn back from his side. My father, who also worked in the Magical Creatures Department, was opposed to this idea, and felt that her work was futile. She ignored him, and continued her trips.

"She was wrong, and they killed her on the Dark Lord's orders." Severus wondered that she could speak so dispassionately. She almost sounded as if she had used the Painstone recently, but one look at her eyes and he could see the pain.

She continued. "I left Hogwarts after taking my N.E.W.T.s, and began working for the Charms committee. One of my colleagues had been a fellow Hogwarts student, and was quite talented at Herbology. He often experimented with plant extracts, and mentioned that he thought he'd seen a ghost haunting the woods. When he described the area, I realised that it was precisely the spot where my mother had been murdered, and I became determined to speak to her, if it really was her ghost.

"My father warned me against it. Those were difficult days, and he felt that it would be quite dangerous to look for her, especially because it was within the giants' lands. I told him that I would be ready to Apparate at a moment's notice, but he was not convinced.

"I began to search the area in my free time. My colleague had mentioned that he had gathered the plants at twilight, so every day I would Apparate there at that time, and look for her. I would linger long into the night.

"One evening I was attacked by Death Eaters, and...after that I was unable to work." She paused suddenly, as if unable to continue.

"You were attacked?" said Emmeline. "Does this have something to do with your abilities as a Sanguimagus? Is this where they manifested themselves?"

"Who attacked you?" asked Moody, his magical eye focused on her. Severus forced himself to stay still, though he knew exactly what Moody was doing.

"Lucius Malfoy," said Sarah quietly. "Walden Macnair."

"Severus Snape," added Moody.

Several of the Order members looked at Severus with shock on their faces. Molly clapped her hand over her mouth. Severus felt anger building within him. Moody was doing his best to tar Sarah, and would not stop at the opportunity to take a jab at Severus as well.

"Yes," said Sarah. "After the attack, I was left with wounds from Malfoy's Slicing Charm, wounds that could not be healed."

"Wounds from a potion." Moody's magical eye focused on Severus.

"The Lingering Wounds Potion, to be precise," said Severus, folding his arms across his chest. "A rare and difficult thing to brew. Lucius applied it to her cuts."

"Lingering Wounds?" asked Arthur, looking disgusted.

"Let her continue," said Lupin. "What happened after you received these wounds?"

Sarah grimaced. "After the attack, I was constantly in pain. My father sent for nearly every potions brewer in England. None of them could help. He combed Europe, Asia...he approached anyone of note who would make the trip. After they all failed to cure me, he continued searching, and found less experienced brewers, and brewers with less-than-reputable reputations. He spent a fortune on cures of all types. None of them worked. I was slowly becoming resistant to pain-relief potions, and eventually only the most powerful and costly had any effect.

"The last charlatan claimed to have an astonishing new therapy. He was quite passionate about his cure. But it didn't cure anything. Instead, it permanently damaged some of my memories. After that, my father turned away any new 'Healers.' In moments of lucidity, I wondered how I would be able to continue my life. I couldn't support myself, and the potions I was ingesting were draining my father's Gringotts account at an alarming rate.

"One evening a man knocked at our door. He spoke to my father alone. When I inquired later, my father told me it was another ridiculous theory, and to pay no mind. But I could not forget the sound of the man's voice. He hadn't been a showman, performing for the opportunity to obtain Galleons. He had sounded frank and serious.

"He stopped by again and again. I begged my father to allow me to speak to him. He refused, but I had noticed that the silver was beginning to disappear.

"I made up my mind to speak to the man. One day while my father was gone I heard a knock. I crawled out of bed and made my way to the door. He was my age, handsome, and he did not seem surprised by my appearance. His introduced himself as Emil. He handed me a small piece of paper with a location written upon it and said that if I wanted to end my pain I should Apparate there, and his master, the master of the house, would see to it that I had whatever I needed.

"I asked him what this master could possibly want in return for giving such a service to me, and he smiled, and said that it was between me and his master.

"I kept the address to myself, but in the next few days the furniture in the dining room vanished, and I noticed how threadbare and haggard my father looked. I told him that I could not burden him any longer, and that I was going to take any chance that I could. He..." Sarah suddenly broke off.

Molly looked at her with outright sympathy. "Perhaps we should skip this part," she said kindly.

"I think it might be important to the tale, Molly," said Silas. Severus stared at him contemptuously. Silas was clearly hanging on every word, and would no doubt use them all against her in the future.

Sarah had composed herself again. "We...argued, and I agreed to come back after meeting with Emil's master. My father was not happy with this, but finally consented.

"I left the next day. I was in pain, because I had purposely taken a smaller dose to render myself more lucid. His master's house was quite large and fine, but once I was shown inside, I was surprised to see that it seemed rather...shabby. It must have once been grand, but fallen into disrepair.

"I was shown into a room that held a table covered with bottles of potions. I recognised most of them as advanced pain-relieving potions, expensive and rare. I sat and waited, and eventually Emil appeared. He said that his master was not ready to speak to me that day, but I should take a potion with me as proof of his good will.

"I was hesitant, but Emil urged me to do so, and I picked one and went home again. I showed it to my father, but he was unconvinced. He didn't want me to return. I felt I had no choice, as to stay would ruin him. I visited Emil at his master's house each day, and each day I brought home another potion.

"At the end of the week, I was shown to a different room. There was a table with a rich meal arranged upon it. Emil came in and said that I would meet his master shortly. We spoke for a few moments, and then he left, reappearing moments later with a well-dressed gentleman. Emil introduced him to me as Erich Grindelwald."

The reaction at the table was instantaneous. Molly gasped aloud in horror. Several of the Order members began speaking at the same time. Lupin half-rose out of his chair.

Only Moody looked unsurprised.

"But...wouldn't Grindelwald...wasn't he dead by then?" asked Bill, once calm had been restored.

"Emil's master was the nephew of the man Headmaster Dumbledore killed," said Sarah emotionlessly. Severus felt uneasy at this news.

"Grindelwald's nephew?" said Bill in disbelief. "And he wanted to help you? I don't understand."

"The name did alarm me," Sarah said slowly. "But he did seem to genuinely want to help me. He said that I would be assisting him in his research. I was frightened and left. But then, later...at night...I remembered his potions, and his kindness...and I could not shake the guilt I felt in my father's house. The next day a goblin came to pay my father a visit, and my father wouldn't tell me what was said."

Severus felt guilt form anew. Without his Lingering Wounds potion, none of this would ever have happened.

Sarah continued, and there was pain in her voice. "To look to a man named Grindelwald for help...it was unheard of. The very name was an abomination. But to live in pain...I spent the next days in utter misery, trying to decide what to do.

"I had spent a year in bed, entirely dependent on my father. I knew that I could not continue that way. There was nothing further he could do...on that path there was only one option left that would save him from utter ruin, and I couldn't do that. My only choice was Grindelwald. If I could truly assist him with his research somehow then it would be a trade, and I would take each day as I could. My mind was made up, but I knew my father would not understand.

"I packed my few possessions and came out into the parlor to tell him that I was leaving. I told him that I was going to become Grindelwald's assistant and that he would provide me with the potions that I needed.

"He was horrified. He was furious. We quarreled for hours, until we both were shouting at each other. He told me that I could not possibly trust Grindelwald, that it was insane to even consider it, that he would extract a terrible price for my help. He told me that I'd end up dead, or worse.

"I told him that he had no choice in the matter, and that I was going to Das Herrenhaus, and that there could be no other decision.

"He begged me to stay. He said that there was always hope. I could not see it, though, and I said things of which I am not proud." She paused for a moment, looking regretful. "As I stepped over the threshold he told me that I was not his daughter any longer, and not to return.

"Upon reaching Das Herrenhaus I wept. Emil comforted me and said I had made the right decision, though I could not see it."

_To be continued_


	72. Confessions: Part Two

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

hr 

Sarah continued her story. "The next morning I felt better. Grindelwald had an excellent collection of potions, and because of them I was able to walk around the manor house in relatively little pain. I had free reign of the library and I was given my own room. Yet the research he had mentioned did not materialise, and I wondered when it would, and what it would involve.

"Each evening I would dine with both of the men. It was pleasant and entertaining. I could not reconcile Grindelwald with his power-mad uncle; he seemed like a gentleman. I found myself wishing to know him better, and wanting to know exactly why he had chosen to help me.

"One day he found me in the library. We began to speak at length of Charms research and I found him to be quite knowledgeable. He began to join me every day there, and I always appreciated our conversations.

"Eventually he spoke of more arcane magic. He told me of an ancient tradition of blood magic, wielded by disciples called Sanguimagi. At first I was horrified. I couldn't imagine using the blood, the very essence of another, for your own bidding. But then I began to see the possibilities. If controlled properly, it could be a powerful, beneficial magic. My wounds spilled blood every day, after all. He encouraged me, showing me small tricks and easy spells, things any witch could do with blood. He hinted that there might be a permanent way to control my pain. I was still taking his potions, but I was rapidly outstripping their ability to dull my agony.

"Emil was silent one evening at our meal, and seemed pale and frightened. I tried to draw him into the conversation, but he would not speak until we were about to retire to our rooms. He told me that he was going to attempt a ritual soon. I had no idea what he meant. He explained further, that there was a secret ceremony to become a Sanguimagus, a rite that would kill the initiate if he did not possess enough of the proper blood."

Severus thought of his own ritual, his entrance into the world of the Dark Lord, and shivered.

Sarah looked grim. "I was horrified, and attempted to dissuade him from it, but he would not hear of it. He continued to ready himself.

"At this time Grindelwald told me of an artefact I could create that would help me control my pain. He gave me a gemstone, perfectly round, and showed me several complex spells. To have a release from pain...the thought consumed me. I became obsessed with the stone and spent hours casting the required spells upon it.

"The pain was becoming resistant to all but the strongest potions Grindelwald owned, and I now spent most of each day in bed. The evening of Emil's ritual neither he nor his master appeared in the dining room. I ate dinner alone and was about to return to my chambers when I was summoned.

"I stumbled down the steps to the dungeons. Emil was there, writhing in agony. Grindelwald told me that Emil was dying, that the ritual had failed. He told me that I could make Emil's death into something I needed, that I could use it to finish the stone."

"A Painstone," growled Moody.

"I knew it!" said Silas triumphantly. "I knew you had a Dark Artefact. My Dark Detectors informed me of its presence from the very first day you came to Hogwarts. They are of my own design, you see—"

"You murdered him," interrupted Moody, staring at Sarah.

She hesitated, looking pained. "Yes," she admitted finally. "I must admit that I wanted this stone very badly, and this was the only way to make it work. Emil was dying a horrible death that would have taken days. I released him from his torment and Grindelwald and I used it to set the last spell in place."

Molly was pale, and the expression on Arthur's face was uncertain. Severus felt unexpected compassion for Sarah; he, too, had made choices, dark choices.

"Soon I was able to control my pain," said Sarah. "I spent my time researching blood magic in the library. After working with the Painstone I began to see that I could bind spells in objects, and, even more importantly, I began to understand that I could keep those objects close to my blood, triggering hexes with their removal. It allowed me to layer spells in a way that was not normally possible. Grindelwald was intrigued. He surprised me by giving me my own workspace, and he began to teach me more advanced spells. He told me that he had kept an eye on me for many years, because my mother's side had once been Sanguimagi. After the most recent revision of his extensive chart of bloodlines, he realised that my father's side had once used blood magic as well. He wanted me to perform the ritual.

"I was hesitant, but the lure of it..." She paused and clenched her hands. "It was impossible to resist. Even after Emil...I thought, arrogantly, that his fate wouldn't be my fate. I began to prepare myself for the ritual.

"A few weeks before the ceremony, Grindelwald introduced me to a young man named William. I was surprised. There had been no one else at the manor house since Emil, after all, and I had just assumed that we would be alone. William also came from a line that had once produced Sanguimagi, and Grindelwald began to train him, exactly as he was training me.

"The night for the ritual came, and I stopped using the Painstone that morning. By evening I began to have misgivings; I was afraid. I could not forget the look on Emil's face as he—as I—" She brought a hand to her mouth suddenly, and was still.

"This ritual," said Silas, leaning forward, "what did it entail?"

She lowered her hand slowly. She looked even paler. "To put it succinctly, one's blood is...awakened in a rather complicated manner. One with sufficient blood magic will recover; one without, will not. Those who live through the ordeal will find that blood answers their call more readily, with greater control.

"While I was enduring the ceremony, Grindelwald brought William into the room, and it was then that I realised that William was meant to do to me what I had done to Emil if I did not recover.

"It was a very close thing. I was not a pureblood, after all. The bloodlines on both sides were weak, and there was no certainty that they would combine into enough to make me a Sanguimagus, though I didn't understand this at the time. Hours passed, and I was in agony. William put the knife to my throat three times, and three times Grindelwald stopped him because he was still uncertain. In the end, I lived, though several days passed before I could rise out of bed. I had become a Sanguimagus, though, and I found comfort in the thought.

"I began to research again. Grindelwald showed me his private library, filled with books on blood magic written by Sanguimagi. He was one of the last pureblood Sanguimagi in the world, and had spent most of his life attempting to find others. When he found a prospective candidate, he would invite him to the manor house. Sometimes those who studied Dark Magic would search him out as well.

"William died in his attempt to become a Sanguimagus, as did Ivan, Alejandro, and Sean. Fewer and fewer apprentices came to Das Herrenhaus as the months progressed.

"One night during dinner there was a terrible knocking at the door. I stood up to answer it, and Grindelwald looked troubled. He walked with me to the foyer and would not let me open the door; he did it himself, with his wand, which was troubling.

"On the doorstep was a man, or what had once been a man. He was vile to look upon. He said his name was—that he was the Dark Lord, and my heart turned to ice. Here was the man who had ordered my mother's death; here was the man who had indirectly caused my continual pain. Though Grindelwald tried to hide it, I could sense his fear."

"You-Know-Who?" gasped Minerva. "Why was he there?"

Severus could guess why, and it made him profoundly uneasy.

"He wished to be taught blood magic." Sarah was white-faced now. "He noticed me, and laughed, saying that I had chosen an excellent hiding place. I had the Painstone in my hand, and I think he could sense its presence, even though he said nothing of it.

"The Dark Lord wanted to know spells, Dark blood curses that I had never heard of, curses that would enslave or destroy his enemies. When Grindelwald refused to teach him, he became horribly angry. Had it been anywhere else, I think the Dark Lord would have quite easily obtained what he wanted from Grindelwald. However, it was Das Herrenhaus, the family home that had housed all Grindelwalds for hundreds of years, and it was protected by many arcane spells. The Dark Lord left, but not without a struggle."

Lupin set a goblet of water before her, and she murmured her thanks. Severus watched as she took a long sip.

"When was this?" asked Emmeline.

"I believe it was a few months before the Dark Lord attacked the Potters," said Sarah.

"What happened next?" asked Bill, clearly engrossed in her story.

Sarah paused. "I lived at Das Herrenhaus for several years..."

"You did to Ivan and the others exactly what you did to William," interrupted Moody grimly.

Sarah placed the goblet back on the table. "They would have died, regardless."

"And after Sean?" prodded Moody.

"There were more," she said reluctantly. "Until the last three years...he seemed to have run out of possible apprentices. There was only one during that time."

"Did you kill him as well?" asked Moody.

Sarah's face hardened for a moment, and Severus was surprised to see a flash of anger. "Yes, I killed her as well."

"Her?" Moody sneered. "What happened to her? Did she get between you and him?"

Sarah's hands clenched into fists. "In a way."

With a jolt, Severus suddenly realised what Moody was saying. _Sarah had been in a relationship with Erich Grindelwald._ The room was suddenly much too warm. "You loved him?" Severus blurted out before he could stop himself.

"I did," she said, turning to look at him. There was an almost apologetic look in her eyes.

"Exactly what happened?" Emmeline had a look of revulsion on her face.

"Her name was Mary," said Sarah. "She came to Das Herrenhaus of her own volition. It was very rare for him to take female apprentices; blood magic seems to flow strongest through men, you see. But she was so determined that he agreed.

"She wanted to learn Dark Magic. Anything and everything Erich would teach her. She quickly became enthralled with him and would not leave his side. She was outspoken and fierce, and in her capable hands Das Herrenhaus thrived; the Dark nature of the house embraced her. In the beginning, she spent her time restoring it to its early glory, and it was amazing to see the full majesty of the manor when she was finished.

"I admired her. But she was the catalyst for dark things...she made Erich dream dreams that he had long put aside. He was infected with the desire for power just like his uncle.

"Mary could never have been a Sanguimagus. He would not let her attempt the ritual because it would have been futile. But they did many things together, Dark things. They began to plan, in secret, how they would rise to power.

"They meant to start with me." She smiled bitterly. "Erich still loved me, in a way, but he had brought me to Das Herrenhaus to create a Painstone first and foremost. They are not easy to create and sustain, after all. A Painstone can have only one person as its source, and only that person can handle the Painstone peculiar to herself, and only that person can harness the power directly, whether by herself or upon the command of another. To have a wizard imprisoned, and torture the wizard each day to feed the Painstone...it has happened, but it's difficult to maintain, and if the wizard decides not to feed their pain into the stone, there isn't much else that can be done. When Erich heard of my plight, he knew that I would be perfect, that I could create a strong Painstone with my wounds.

"At first Mary did not want me to continue to live at Das Herrenhaus. I think that she changed her mind after Erich told her of my Painstone. They decided to keep me close, and use me to further their plans.

"I assumed that it was a temporary situation, much like the other apprentices. Mary was very clever, you see, but she was not a blood witch, and could not be. I kept to myself and bided my time, thinking that he would grow tired of her eventually.

"It was then that she discovered the Undying Devotion spell." She paused, taking a long, controlled breath.

"I've never heard of that," said Bill.

"It's a Dark spell," said Severus in horror. "A terribly Dark spell."

"It's a blood magic curse," said Sarah flatly. "There is a spell, cast with a wand, which renders the dead into a half-living thing; it gives the spell-caster control over them. The Dark Lord has used such a spell in the past.

"There is a blood magic spell that does the same, but with the living. It is very Dark indeed, for it puts one's soul in direct dominion over another's. It takes away every free thought and leaves the victim in its thrall. Undying Devotion is akin to the Imperius Curse, but far, far worse, as there is no chance of resisting it, and no chance of recovery, save the caster's death or recant. The victim is poisoned and then left for a length of time in the dark, after which he will rise, blind, pale, and mindless, implacable, completely controlled by his master. There were once stories of Salazar's white army, an army of victims of the curse, though they were greatly exaggerated. Administering the curse is extremely complicated, and only one victim can be kept by a Sanguimagus at a time. It was something only the most powerful of Sanguimagi would attempt.

"Once Mary discovered this curse, she became obsessed with it. She wouldn't rest until she had such a weapon."

"Surely she couldn't cast it," said Severus, his mouth dry.

"She could not, but Erich..." Sarah looked haunted. "I think Erich was reluctant when she first approached him. He still cared for me, and he hadn't found another Sanguimagus in years. Even though I was a poor Sanguimagus by his standards, I was still a Sanguimagus, and he was loathe to harm me. But _she_ would not stop. Mary meant to have a throne, she would use me as she could or destroy me. She eventually convinced him to cast the spell upon me, saying that after their dominion was secured, he could always release me from it, and he finally agreed.

"I thought I knew what was coming. I thought I was prepared. I was wrong." She took in a shaky breath. "They waylaid me one evening, late, after my research had left me weakened. They brought me to the chamber in the dungeons that they had prepared. I was unable to move, but aware, and they began to drain my blood into a bowl, where they mixed it with...horrible things, scratching things, burning things, the blood of a basilisk, the blood of a jobberknoll, his blood, her blood..." Severus felt his insides crawl. Sarah's hands began to tremble, and she concealed them under the table. "He held his hand over my arm and began to force the...poisoned blood back into my veins. It felt..." She shook her head. "I won't describe it.

"When he was done, my own blood was searing me from within, and already my vision was blurring. They lifted me and placed me inside of a stone sarcophagus, and sealed it shut. The grinding noise that it made—I could not draw breath to scream, and it was dark, darker than..."

For a long moment, she sat, still and pale, looking more undone than he had ever seen. Severus had never imagined that she had gone through such a nightmarish ordeal, and his heart gave a painful squeeze.

"I don't know how much time passed," Sarah said softly. Severus saw in her eyes an utter blackness that was terrifying, a scalding pain of poisoned blood flowing through the body, a mind that feared it was going mad.

"How could...how did you escape?" asked Emmeline.

Sarah looked at her. "Eventually they unsealed it."

"And the curse?" asked Bill. "What happened?"

"She made a grave error," said Sarah quietly. "Erich's blood would give him control over me, and it was a necessary part of the spell. Mary added her own, thinking that it would give her control as well. But she wasn't a Sanguimagus, and her blood did nothing except dilute the mixture.

"They raised me up and Erich terminated his binding spell. They laid me back down on the lid of the sarcophagus. Mary was nearest, and though I was blind, I could hear her breathing. Erich would not approach me. I could feel him, standing there, and my mind felt as if it was leaking, as if all of my thoughts were slowly slipping away. Powerful compulsions were taking root, compulsions to be vacant, to be hollow...

"Mary came closer to me, until she was digging the tip of her wand into my cheek. She told Erich that she was quite satisfied with their work. She stood there for a moment, quiet, and then she said, 'I will mark her with my symbol.' Erich did not want to watch, and said he was going upstairs. She turned her attention to me, and said, 'You and I have much to do.' She sounded pleased. 'I'll send you into battle, and you'll scare them all...your white skin, your white eyes...Erich won't regret this anymore when he sees you, all dressed in white armor, a weapon Salazar would have been proud to own...' She said nothing for a long moment, but I could still hear her, and it seemed that my thoughts were ebbing and flowing with her every breath. She said, 'Well, that's decided, then,' and I felt a hot pain on my forehead.

"It seemed to pierce through my skull, and I knew with utter certainty that I only had a moment. I was still blind, but I reached out and grabbed her throat with both hands. There was a clatter as her wand fell to the floor. I was desperate. My body was on fire, my arms were shaking, my mind felt as if it was splitting in two, but I knew that I could not let go, not unless I wanted to be—marked, and vacant, and her tool of war..." She shuddered and was quiet for a long moment. "It seemed to go on forever. She was kicking and flailing, and she pulled me to the floor, but in the end..." She released a shaky breath. "Erich found us both later, and I heard him weeping for her. It was hard to form a coherent thought, much less speak, and I heard his footsteps on the stairs as he carried her away.

"For some time I lay on the floor, until I decided that I had to find him. I crawled up the stairs by feel, but once I reached the main floor I was lost. It was a large house, with many rooms, and I was blind, and confused.

"Time passed, and then I felt his hands upon me, and there was a horrible feeling in my heart and my head, and the poison began to leak from my skin, burning and scalding, and I lay on the floor and screamed until I was unconscious.

"He had lifted the curse, but things could not be the same between us. He would not let go of the visions that she had awakened in him. He missed her terribly. I missed her, too, in some strange way. She had been the heart of the house during her short stay, and now that she was gone, it seemed like a broken, hollow place."

"After what she did?" said Emmeline in disbelief.

"She was young, and ambitious," said Sarah. "She craved power, like many do. But she was...alive in many ways that we weren't..." Sarah took a sip of water. "Erich retreated into himself, and I worked on my own research more than ever. I imbued three objects with three powerful spells and hid them in my flesh, should he attempt to attack me once more.

"They were unnecessary, as it turned out. I interrupted him one evening in his private workspace, something I only did rarely. We spoke, but as we did, his eyes strayed to the shelves where he kept some of his components. I noticed a flask of basilisk's blood. It has only one purpose in blood magic, and I was suddenly afraid.

"I think that he...purposely allowed Mary to add her blood to the spell. I think, in his heart, he did not want to subject me to the curse, and was afraid to tell her. But after I killed her...something in him changed, and it was at that moment, standing in his workspace, that I understood. The next time he performed the spell there would be no diluting of the blood. I think that he felt he would be honouring her somehow, that achieving their shared dream would be a fitting memorial to her.

"I knew then that he was infected beyond help, that the desire for power was too strong. It would only be a matter of time before I would be his slave completely. I drew my wand, but he easily disarmed me. I drew my knife, but when it touched his skin, it melted into uselessness, which I should have foreseen, as it had been a gift from him.

"I tried attacking him physically. He knocked me across the room. I called him a deceiver...a betrayer. He looked troubled. He said, 'I haven't lied to you.'. I told him that he had brought me here only to be a pawn in his plans.

"'Yes, at first,' he said. 'But then there was more between us, more than I expected.' I told him that made it worse. He was holding both wands, and there was a look of regret on his face. He said, 'I will make you powerful. I will make you into a true weapon, one that will make my enemies tremble.'

"I told him that he did not have enemies, that he had Das Herrenhaus, and that he had me as well, and he needed nothing more. At this he became angry. He shouted that he was meant for more than to slowly decay in this horrible house. He cast something, and I only barely ducked in time. I looked around frantically, but there was nothing within reach. The Painstone..." She took a deep breath. "I had sworn a vow that I would never use it against him, but I did. I used the Painstone, and he cried out and fell, dropping the wands in the process. He began to say terrible things, horrible things, what he would do to me now that I had shown him who I really was. I took his knife from the table and pressed it against his throat.

"For a moment he was furious, and then it all seemed to drain away. He begged me to spare his life. He said I would have a weapon for so long, until the Painstone was exhausted, and then he would have lifted the curse. He said...many things." She blinked a few times.

"You killed him," said Moody matter-of-factly.

"Yes," she said, near-inaudibly.

"The spells on Das Herrenhaus failed." Moody was watching her closely.

"Yes," she said quietly. "With his death, the Grindelwald line ended, and Das Herrenhaus was no longer Unplottable. There were Aurors—I didn't know what to do, but I didn't want to be found. I had no idea what would happen. I hadn't left the house in many years, and I was afraid I would be taken to Azkaban.

"They arrived so quickly that I had no time to gather anything. I heard the front doors explode into splinters not an hour after his death. I took my wand and his knife, and left the house, hiding nearby and watching as they burned Das Herrenhaus. The blood magic books...the artefacts...they destroyed everything. The Aurors were older men, led by Moody, and I began to understand that they had been waiting for this, waiting ever since Erich's uncle had been destroyed. They were waiting for Das Herrenhaus to show itself to them. They might not have been acting under the Ministry's orders; I don't know. Blood magic was being wiped from our world.

"I hid, but it became apparent that I had to leave. I couldn't Apparate; I was afraid of drawing their attention, and I was afraid that they could trace my Apparition. I crept away through the woods. The fires from the house lit up the night and for a while I could see where I was going.

"Afterward, I hid myself as well as I was able. I travelled, and hid and rested when I could. Walking this way, I eventually came to the border, and crossed into Poland."

_To be continued_


	73. Confessions: Part Three

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

The room was utterly silent, and Severus watched, apprehensive, as Sarah reached out for the goblet of water. 

"Where did you go in Poland?" asked Silas, his expression intense.

"I did not stay in one place very long," she admitted. She took a long drink of water.

"That is where you contacted the Headmaster from, is it not?" asked Silas.

"Yes," said Sarah, putting the goblet back on the table. "I spent most of the winter hiding. However, the Aurors were still looking for me, and I had to keep moving.

"During the summer I began to grow weary of running. I needed to create an amulet, something that would help keep me hidden. I didn't want to attract too much attention by killing any of the larger magical beasts in the area. But I needed a large amount of blood, more than was safe for me to contribute. I had little in the way of money. Blood-Replenishing Potions are expensive, so I decided to procure Strengthening Solution instead, though it's a poor substitute.

"I was close to Gdansk, and I searched for a potions shop. There was only one, and it was difficult to find. I had been told that the owner's name was Jacek, but when I stepped inside there was no one there. It was getting dark out, but I lingered, hoping to speak to someone.

"Eventually Jacek himself emerged from another room, and told me in an abrasive manner that he was closing and that I'd have to come back tomorrow. I was expecting just such a personality; in fact, I was hoping for it. Most competent brewers are rather solitary and preoccupied with their craft, and wouldn't ask questions that I would rather not answer. I had no way of knowing that it was, in fact, an act, and that he'd been watching me since I set foot in the door.

"I had no way of knowing that he was in the Dark Lord's employ." Anger flashed on her face.

"The next day I returned. To my surprise, and unease, he waved me into the back of the store. He was much friendlier, and began a conversation with me. I kept my replies as vague as I could, and asked him about Strengthening Solution. He said he had none in stock, and that he needed three days to brew it. He named a price that was higher than I'd expected, and he said that I needed to leave half as a deposit. It was nearly the exact amount that I had in my pocket, and I hesitated at first. But I felt I had no choice.

"I had three days to procure the second half of the money, and I spent them as I had spent much of the year already, going to rustic wizard dwellings and selling amulets to housewitches. News of the Dark Lord had reached Poland, and many were fearful. More often than not I was thrown back into the street by an angry wizard, but in the end I sold just enough, and I made my way back to Jacek's shop.

"It was almost evening, and the store was closed, but he let me in and showed me the bottle of Strengthening Solution. I gave him the rest of the money, but as I reached out to take the bottle, he stepped back.

"He smiled, and said, 'Are you certain that you want Strengthening Solution? I might be willing to trade a Blood-Replenishing Potion for an amulet.' For a moment I thought he meant the simple talismans I'd been selling, but then it sank in. He knew that I was a Sanguimagus. I tried to leave, but he stopped me forcefully. He told me that if I created an amulet for him I could have the solution and the potion both; if I tried to leave he would call the Aurors.

"I didn't realize that this was an idle threat. I hesitated at first, and then agreed, even though I knew it was horribly foolish. My skin crawled as we walked downstairs into the lower level of the shop, and I could feel the distinct presence of Anti-Apparition spells. There was a Nogtail in a cage, grunting and shuffling its feet, and I began to truly understand the danger involved. It occurred to me that he had known what I was at the very beginning, and had planned the entire exchange. He had known almost to the Sickle how much money was in my pocket, and he had guessed at how many days I would linger to get what I wanted.

"I expected him to ask for an amulet to attract witches, or to protect against unfriendly spells, something that people commonly ask for." She took another sip of water. "I did not expect him to ask for a limnal."

Severus felt his heart squeeze in fear. Most of the others looked confused.

"A limnal?" asked Emmeline. "I've never heard of such a thing."

"The Sanguimagi developed limnals in order to store magical essences," said Sarah. "They were...they held blood, originally. Eventually, however, someone experimented and found that they could contain other things, as well."

"Other things," said Moody contemptuously. "Like a _soul_."

"You can't be serious," blurted out Emmeline.

"There is a spell that can contain fragments of a soul in an object," said Severus quietly.

"Yes," said Sarah. "This spell is very similar. Except...blood magic is very good at containing things, you see...they were eventually able to contain an entire soul within an object."

Molly looked horrified. "Why would they do such a thing?"

"The spell Severus is speaking of...does not allow access to the fragment of soul," said Sarah. "Once the fragment has been sealed inside, it's trapped, and unchangeable, unless it is destroyed. The blood magic spell, however, allows the owner of said item to manipulate the soul within. The Sanguimagi who researched it hoped that eventually they would be able to use the soul's essence to further their own magic."

Arthur looked as if he was about to be sick.

"As it turned out," continued Sarah, "it was nearly impossible to use a trapped soul in any significant manner. The only area that held promise was in potions, and, even still, very little progress was made.

"Upon reflection, I think that the Dark Lord was quite interested in the possible use of a soul's essence in creating a potion which would rejuvenate or confer immortality upon the drinker. To this end Jacek asked for and received three days to lure me into his trap.

"His preparations for the limnal were only barely adequate. I had my knife, of course, but the item he was attempting to use as the base for the limnal could not have handled the tremendous stress of housing—"

"You actually made one for him!" said Bill.

"I had little choice," she said in a tight voice. "I'd been running from place to place for months, and I knew that I would be no match for him in any kind of a duel. There was no way that I could run from him. I was afraid that he would report me to the Aurors, and then I never would have escaped Gdansk.

"Before I started, I demanded that he promise that I would leave unharmed and with the potions I required after I had made the sacrifice and cast the proper spells. He agreed and seemed sincere. I told him that it was complicated, and would take some time.

"I worked late into the evening. He found a new item to act as limnal and I Purposed it and set the spells upon it. It's an extremely difficult ritual, and I was exhausted already. Jacek was growing quite agitated, however, and I didn't want to push my luck any farther than it had already been stretched by asking for more time.

"I sacrificed the Nogtail, withdrew its power, and applied its blood to the limnal carefully. It was the most difficult part of the procedure. I wanted desperately to use the Painstone but I could not. Jacek was hovering closely, watching every move.

"Eventually I finished. It was nearing dawn, and I was so tired that I could have sunk to the floor and slept.

"I demanded the potions. He handed me the Strengthening Solution and I gave him the limnal. He stood there for a moment, examining it and touching it as if it were incredibly fragile.

"I reminded him about the Blood-Replenishing Potion. He looked irritated, but pointed to his workspace in the back of the basement. I went to his worktable and took the bottle. I was about to drink from it when several Death Eaters burst in.

"Macnair was among them, and as soon as I heard his voice my knees grew weak. I dropped the potion and the vial shattered on the floor. Macnair began to laugh." She shivered. "I reminded Jacek of his promise, that he had sworn to let me leave unharmed. He laughed and said that I'd be leaving quite soon, unharmed, just with added company. He said that what happened after I walked out his door was not part of our agreement.

"I couldn't reach for my wand or the Painstone without the Death Eaters reacting. Jacek smiled again, and said, 'Perhaps if you tell me what you know about using a limnal to hold a wizard's soul I'll send word to the Dark Lord to be lenient.'

"I was shocked for a moment, but then I understood. I said, 'I could tell you what I know, but it would make little difference, as you don't actually _have_ a proper limnal.'

"He laughed. 'Don't be stupid,' he told me. 'You made it yourself. I see what you're doing—you're afraid I'll use it.'

"I told him, 'It isn't going to work the way you expect it to.'

"He said, 'I'll play along with your little game, then. Why isn't it going to work?'

"There was a window in the wall behind me, near the ceiling. It was small, but it was my only chance. I took a step forward, toward a shelf of potions. I said, 'It won't work because you used a Nogtail as your sacrifice. To hold a wizard's soul, you need a limnal made with a wizard's sacrifice.'

"For a moment he simply stood there. He looked down at the limnal in his hands, and then back up at me. He swore, and pulled out his wand, as if he was going to hex me. Macnair grabbed his arm.

"It was the only chance I would get. I kicked out at the shelf of potions, and most of them fell to the ground. One exploded, and shards of glass flew everywhere. The air filled with huge clouds of smoke. I held my breath and scrambled up on top of the worktable that was against the wall. The window was unlocked, and I shoved it open and began to pull myself through.

"It was a terribly tight squeeze. I could hear shouts and crashes in the basement, and I clawed at the grass outside for purchase, but only succeeded in pulling out clumps. Fortunately my boot caught at a stone in the wall inside. I tried pushing against it, but I couldn't seem to get enough leverage, and my wand was in my pocket. A curse hit my leg, and I could feel it slice through my robes. I panicked, and with a burst of energy I was able to push enough to get through it.

"I was outside, and I knew I only had a moment before they would come out of the front door. I walked away slowly, putting on a disguise talisman that I used to sell my amulets. Macnair passed me and never even realized who I was, though I was terrified.

"My relief at escaping was short-lived. These were Death Eaters, and they would use everything at their disposal to find me, even the Darkest of magic. Worse, I could think of no one who would help me. I had no idea where to turn.

"Entirely by chance I found a Polish Wizarding newspaper. There was a picture of Headmaster Dumbledore on the last page, and I decided to contact him and see if he could offer any help. I sent him an owl and spent the next two days hiding in Gdansk in a burned-out flat of apartments. He sent a Portkey, which I used immediately."

"So you're saying that the limnal wouldn't have worked?" said Bill.

"If he wanted to contain a bit of Dreamless Sleep, yes. A soul? No." Sarah took another sip of water.

"You came to Hogwarts, then," said Emmeline.

"Yes," said Sarah. "The Headmaster was extremely kind. He offered me a place to live..." She began to detail her conference with the Headmaster, how she had begun to teach classes, and her first days at the castle.

Severus knew most of the rest of her story, having heard much of it or been present at parts of it, and he subtly began to watch the other Order members. Silas seemed to be hanging on Sarah's every word, as was Moody; Lupin looked troubled. Molly and Arthur both seemed upset.

He could understand their discomfort. The secrets that had come to light that evening made him uneasy. He had assumed that she had been taught blood magic, but he never would have guessed that her teacher had been a Grindelwald. The name gave him chills. Even worse, not only had the bastard instructed her in Dark magic, he had also been in a relationship with her.

It was clear that Sarah had made choices, but even still, guilt worried at him. His potion, and the attack, had sent her down that path, though it was possible that Grindelwald would have contacted her anyway. The fact remained that his potion had made her vulnerable enough to influence her decision.

He hated that she was here at all. He wanted to hex Silas and Moody right back out into the street. Confessing herself so openly to strangers gave them power over her, and he knew that the repercussions wouldn't be pleasant.

She spoke now of the healing that he had attempted, and she glossed over the gruesome details, saying that the potion had been removed and the wounds closed. He remembered her body, tense and bloody beneath his hand, and he felt another wave of shame pass through him.

The vote would be close. The Order members wouldn't want to welcome Dark Magic, and he could see that many of them were apprehensive about Sarah. He was tempted to dispel the concealing charms on his voting sphere so that everyone could see that he had voted for her to join, but he dismissed the idea. It might sway the vote the wrong way, after all.

Minerva hadn't looked surprised or horrified at any point; she looked grim, and he supposed that the Headmaster had already told her Sarah's story. She seemed to tolerate Sarah, and Severus supposed that she might vote in Sarah's favor.

"I used the first nail," Sarah was saying. "It contained a massive Stunning Spell, but the Dark Lord was barely affected. I had no choice but to use the second nail as well, which contained fire. I only had a limited idea of what would happen. The nature of the flame was unpredictable, and I just managed to throw it in his direction before he hexed me. I fled the house and Apparated to the Forbidden Forest. I was very fortunate that Severus found me and took me back to the castle..."

It would not have been pleasant if he hadn't found her. He couldn't have saved her if one of the other Death Eaters had brought her back. The Headmaster had made it clear that his mission had been more important than a single life, regardless of whose life it was.

Already this meeting had gone on far longer than Fleur's, and he bristled at the thought. It would be well into night before they would get back to the castle. Sarah's hands were clenched tightly in her lap as she explained how she had gone out into the forest and killed a thestral in order to cast a blood locator spell. Her voice was steady and clear, and yet he could sense her unease.

"I had no choice but to use the last nail," she said. "Pulling it out triggered the Summoning of a manticore. While they were distracted, I lifted Severus and carried him to where we could safely Apparate. After he was safely away I stood up and felt a wand at my neck. Macnair threatened me, and I killed him, and then I Apparated to the Forbidden Forest—"

"How did you kill him?" interrupted Moody.

"With the Painstone," said Sarah.

"Could you have Apparated instead?" asked Silas.

"I...don't think I could have," she said, looking troubled. "He was too close...he could have easily cursed me before I could complete the Apparition..." She took a calming breath. "That was last Saturday."

A long, awkward silence filled the room. "A difficult tale," said Lupin at last. "I am surprised that you sit here today. Very few meet the Dark Lord unwillingly more than once and walk away alive."

"It hardly seems possible," said Emmeline.

"I think it's time—" began Lupin.

"I find that I have more questions," interrupted Silas, turning back to Sarah. "If you are to be an addition to the Order, then I would like to hear more about how you could be advantageous to our cause. Really, we have no use for anything you could provide, excepting your familiarity with blood magic."

"No use?" asked Molly. "That's a ridiculous thing to say. Every witch or wizard can make a contribution. Why, even Arabella—"

"Let me handle this," said Silas. "I know what I'm doing here. I was in the war with Grindelwald, you know." Molly turned red and opened her mouth, but Arthur put a hand on her arm.

"Ask me your questions," said Sarah.

"I think Remus is right," said Bill, looking angry. "We should vote now. Haven't we heard enough?"

"I am still undecided," said Silas, his eyes gleaming in a way that disturbed Severus. "More undecided than before, in fact. You see, the truth of the matter is that I believe her to be of very little use to us not because of her talents, but because of her _character_. Arabella is a fine asset to our cause because she believes in it and we trust her. I don't think that Sarah is capable of such a thing. In fact, I don't doubt that she should be in Azkaban after that story.

"Of course, if that were the crux of the matter, then I wouldn't even have another question for her. I would simply vote 'no' and that would be the end." His look was calculating. "However, there _is_ something else to consider. She is a Sanguimagus, and that warrants careful consideration. If this can be made useful, it could help us in our fight against the enemy. I would particularly like to see a demonstration of blood magic in order to better develop a sense of its value."

"A demonstration?" said Sarah with a touch of disbelief. "It isn't an amusement, meant for your entertainment. It isn't like waving a wand and conjuring a bouquet. All blood magic requires pain and sacrifice, no matter how large or small the spell."

"I'm certain that a professional such as yourself knows a simple spell that could satisfy our curiosity," said Silas smoothly.

Sarah grimaced at that, but brought her knife out of her robe. Silas leaned forward to watch as she pricked the tip of a finger with the point of the blade. A single drop of blood formed on her fingertip, and she stared at it.

Severus could feel magic in the air, the slightest touch of it. The blood trembled, reshaping itself into a long, elegant serpent. She brought her finger down until it touched the table, and the tiny blood-red snake descended to the tabletop and began to slither forward. Arthur leaned back, frowning.

"I see," said Silas thoughtfully, watching the diminutive serpent as it made its way across the table. "Very interesting. Still, it doesn't seem as if it would be of much use. The Order has no need of magic that enslaves people and imprisons souls."

"Perhaps not," said Sarah. "Wand magic is superior in nearly every way, after all. But I feel I must remind you that the Dark Lord does know of blood magic, and has used it in the past. Even the Headmaster knows something of it.

"There are many spells for attracting animals. There are spells for keeping them quiet as one drains their blood. There are spells that burn the skin and spells that bind.

"They aren't the only spells, however. There are spells that cure, spells that calm, spells that animate toys for children. One can use a wand to cast an Unforgiveable, or dry a cloak. Magic is what you do with it." The snake had crawled across the table and was inspecting Moody.

"Well, if there are no further questions..." Lupin sounded mildly shaken.

"I'm not finished," said Moody, his magical eye focused on Sarah.

"Ask."

"What do you know of the clay giant we found at Grindelwald's manor?"

She looked confused at first. "The clay giant..." Realization dawned in her eyes. "You must mean Gottschalk—the golem. I had no idea...I thought he was destroyed with Das Herrenhaus."

"The Ministry has been studying it for weeks," said Moody.

"Useless," she said firmly. "He was created to be a servant to the Grindelwalds. When their line ended, he ended as well. Erich was the last to live in Das Herrenhaus. He was injured during the war, and convalesced there, and once he...died, the golem would cease to be animated."

"A golem?" asked Emmeline.

"They are created from clay," said Sarah. "In their 'head' is placed a piece of paper with the name they are to obey, and the corresponding blood of that line. If properly cared for, they can last for a very long time. Gottschalk was at least two hundred and fifty years old."

"There is no way of reviving it?" said Moody.

Sarah frowned. "Not unless you have discovered a way to bring the dead back to life. Golem magic is very specific, and without the connection to the creator or the creator's blood-line, he will crumble into dust. How, exactly, is this relevant to whether or not I will be accepted?"

"It is not for you to decide relevance," said Silas ominously.

"Why would you bring up the golem, then?" asked Sarah, her eyes narrowed. "Do you wish me to create one for you? I am afraid that it would require the death-blood of at least three wizards. And I can not revive Gottschalk; he is beyond anyone's magic now. He must be nearly crumbled into dust."

"What did you use him for?" asked Moody. "What was the purpose of creating him?"

"He was the servant of the Grindelwalds, as I said. Gottschalk mostly tended the gardens; there were many plants there that provided important potion ingredients."

"It was a gardener?" asked Moody, looking surprised. The snake lost interest in him and began to slither towards Silas.

"Yes, of course." She sipped her water. "What did you expect? That it was some sort of magical warrior?"

"It's getting late," said Bill, rubbing his eyes. "I really think it's time to vote." Several of the other members nodded in agreement.

"Very well," said Silas, looking cross. "Remus, if you would be so kind..."

Lupin passed around the tin of voting spheres. Severus took one and mentally commanded it _green_. The marble flashed white, and he placed it back in the tin when it was passed around again. Sarah's jaw was set, and she looked uncomfortable. The tiny snake had crossed the table, headed for him, and he frowned at it.

"_Aparecium_," said Lupin, waving his wand over the tin. The voting spheres turned red and green. "Hmm..."

"It looks like a close vote," said Silas, stroking his goatee.

The snake was nearing Severus's right cuff, its tiny, jewel-bright tongue tasting the fabric. Sarah gestured with her hand, and it reluctantly returned to her, turning back into a drop of blood when it touched her fingertip.

Lupin counted for a moment before he turned towards her, looking regretful. "I'm sorry, Sarah. You had one vote too few."

Silas smirked across the table at her, and Severus was suddenly filled with rage. "I'll return you to Hogwarts," said Silas, making as if to stand up. "Your memory will need to be modified, as agreed—"

"Your assistance won't be necessary," said Severus softly. He stood up and glowered at him. Several members of the Order turned to look. "I will be escorting her."

"You?" said Silas. "I hardly think that you should be the one to perform the Memory Charm. It would be better if a third, _uninvolved_ party were to cast the spell."

"I will do it," spat Severus. He met Silas's eyes directly.

For a moment it looked as if Silas would protest further, but then he frowned. "I will check on her tomorrow, personally, to be certain that the charm was performed to my satisfaction."

"Really?" drawled Severus. "But wouldn't that give away your involvement in the Order?"

Silas looked displeased. "Very well. But—"

Sarah stood up, interrupting him. "Thank you for the opportunity," she said quietly to Lupin. Molly lifted her charm off the door, and Lupin smiled sadly and accompanied them out of the kitchen. Severus could hear the rest of the Order speaking in hushed tones in the kitchen as they made their way to the foyer.

"I'm sorry, Sarah," said Lupin, helping her into Severus's cloak. He seemed sincere.

"Yes, thank you," she murmured. Severus took his cloak from Lupin irritably and opened the door, not bothering to say goodbye.

"It must have continued snowing," she said, squinting up into the streetlights as she walked out onto the street. She looked down at the inch of white powder on the ground. "You know, I used to be able to walk in the snow barefoot...it actually felt rather refreshing."

He pulled on his own cloak. The snow was swirling down, thick and wet, and he wanted nothing more than to return to Hogwarts. "Are you ready?" he asked.

She nodded. "I can Apparate to the forest, if you don't—"

"I will Apparate us both," he said curtly, taking her arm and concentrating. A sharp noise filled his ears and suddenly they were in the dark confines of the forest. "_Lumos_," he said.

In the pale blue light she appeared cold and defeated. She pulled the borrowed cloak tighter around herself with her free hand. Irrationally, he did not want to let go of her arm, and they walked this way together until they crossed the boundaries of the castle grounds. Hogwarts stood, both imposing and inviting, and he turned to face her, regretting already what he had to do.

She looked up at him, and he was surprised to find trust there. She stood stiffly, expectant, and for a moment he couldn't find his voice to utter the spell. "You need to cast it," she murmured.

He had known it would end this way, with her standing in the snow. He had known that he would have to erase her memory, as much as he had hoped otherwise. "_Obliviate_," he said with a touch of anger.

Her eyes widened, and for a moment there was a frightening blankness in them, a deep well akin to a void. She blinked, and blinked again, almost comically. "It certainly became dark quickly," she said, sounding confused. "Wait...there's snow on the ground. I thought..." She shook her head. "No...I was going somewhere...with you." She looked up at him once more and he watched as her thoughts reordered themselves and comprehension finally dawned on her. "I wasn't accepted," she said calmly.

He shook his head. "No."

"I see," she said. "I can't say that I expected differently." She turned and began to walk towards the doors.

He stood watching her as she walked in the snow, thinking many different thoughts at once, until the chill wind rose again, and then he followed her into the warmth of the castle.


	74. Confessions: Part Four

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

The entrance hall was empty, and Sarah's footsteps echoed in the quiet. Emotions swirled within her as she neared the hallway that led to her quarters. She was unsettled, yet part of her felt calm, almost light, perhaps a side effect of the Memory Charm. Severus had lingered outside for a moment when she entered Hogwarts, and she heard the squeak of hinges from somewhere behind her as he opened the front door.

"Sarah, wait!" he called out.

She stopped, turning toward him, and he walked swiftly across the entrance hall, robes flaring, until he stood before her. In the low light his eyes were inky and fathomless, and she suppressed a shiver. "Yes?"

"I was wondering if you would like to join me for a drink," he said quietly. His expression was odd, and then she realized it was because he so rarely looked nervous.

"Are the teachers gathering for a nightcap?" she said, puzzled.

"No," he said, looking uncomfortable. "In my...quarters. I have firewhisky, or...absinthe, if you prefer..."

"Absinthe?" she said, surprised. A sudden desire for the delicious haze of the drink rose within her. Could she trust him enough to drink absinthe with him? She looked up into his face, and decided that she could. "Yes, I would prefer that."

He looked relieved and nervous all at once. "Shall we?"

She nodded, and followed him down the stairs that led to the dungeons.

He stopped before the door to his office, and muttered a word. The door opened, and she followed him in. It looked much the same as it had the last time she had seen it; his desk was covered with marking yet to be done, just like her own. He tapped another door with his wand, and they entered a sitting room dominated with a large fireplace. The entire room was walled with bookshelves. There were a few chairs, one with a matching footrest next to the fireplace, two low tables mostly covered with books, and a glassed-in cabinet containing several bottles.

Severus pointed his wand at the fireplace, and flames immediately came to life. He gestured at the tables and the books sprang up and began to shelve themselves.

Sarah stepped back as the books leapt through the air. After they finished aligning themselves she looked closer, noticing that the shelves were arranged by subject. Apparently he had been reading about sleep-inducing potions; most of the books from the table near the fireplace had been from one row, and now that they were in place again she could see that nearly all of the titles referenced sleep somehow.

She traced the edge of one well-worn volume, trying to puzzle out the title on the faded spine. Erich's library had been much more impressive, but Severus's books had a well-thumbed look to them, as if he read them often.

"You've indulged in absinthe before, I take it," said Severus, placing a tray on one of the tables. He flicked his wand lazily, and the other chair came closer, until they were both half turned to each other, with the table offset between them.

"At Das Herrenhaus we drank it every Sunday afternoon," she said, watching him carefully. He tensed, and she knew, then, that she must have told her story, or at the very least some of it. "It was a household tradition, really. A man named Gaertner sold it to Erich, as his father had sold it to Erich's father, and his father before him."

Severus tapped the large crystal decanter on the tray, and a thin coat of frost immediately formed on the outside. Four delicate glasses stood next to it, along with a pair of silver slotted spoons and a small dish containing sugar cubes.

Sarah sat down in one of the chairs. This close, she could see that the crystal decanter bore the Hogwarts crest, but the glasses and spoons displayed the Malfoy crest. She frowned at them.

Severus went back to the cabinet and retrieved a smooth, bell shaped bottle with a long neck, setting it on the table in between them and seating himself comfortably in the other chair. He smirked, and she wondered why, until she looked back at the bottle.

Suspended in the brilliant green liquid was a fairy.

She gasped. "Une feé verte!" The fairy had a dreamy expression on her face, and performed a slow, elegant backflip, her wings undulating. "Remarkable. I've never seen one before...I had no idea they really existed." The bottle was sealed, with Severus's initials sunk deep into the wax.

"I've brewed absinthe many times before," he said. "This is one of the few bottles that attracted a fairy. Lucius..." He suddenly looked uncomfortable.

"Are you certain that you wish to...share this with me?" she said uncertainly.

He looked as if he was going to say something sharp, but seemed to rethink it. "Time is short," he said gruffly. He made a motion with his wand, and the wax peeled away, freeing the cork. The bottle tilted slightly, positioning itself over one of the glasses, and the fairy rolled to the lower end as the absinthe began to pour out.

"The last time I drank absinthe was at Das Herrenhaus," she mused aloud. "I remember the first Sunday after...it was destroyed. I was hiding somewhere, some cold bit of forest, and suddenly it dawned on me what day it was, and I realized then that there was no going back, that it was gone forever."

Severus regarded her intensely. "Do you wish you were still there?"

"Das Herrenhaus? I..." She thought for a long moment. "I don't know. Yes, because I was safe from the Dark Lord there...no, because I wasn't safe from Erich's ambitions there. I...I miss it, truthfully. I miss the library, and the gardens, and Gottschalk, and yes, I miss Erich. But it wasn't a place I could have stayed forever, I know."

The bottle had finished pouring the proper amount of absinthe into the first glass, and began pouring into the second glass. Severus was still watching her.

"Does it really matter?" she said weakly. "I'm here now, and I can't go anywhere else."

He turned his attention back to the bottle, and it righted itself. The spoons balanced themselves across the top of each glass, and Severus leaned forward and used the tongs to carefully place two sugar cubes on each one. The crystal decanter levitated and began to trickle ice water over the sugar cubes and through the spoon into a glass.

"It looks beautiful," she added, watching the fairy swimming in the bottle. "I've never seen absinthe so vibrant before."

"It's my own concoction."

She stayed quiet for a moment, contemplating the ecstatic dance of the fairy. She was uncertain how much of her history she'd shared. His expression was inscrutable, and she couldn't even guess at why he'd invited her here, to share such a treasure. "The first time I tried absinthe I thought it was undrinkable," she said. "So bitter. The anise was overpowering. It took time for me to appreciate it."

"The first time I drank absinthe was at Lucius's manor," said Severus. "His father gave us both a glass as if it was the most common thing in the world. I didn't want to admit that I'd never drank it before. I tried to look nonchalant, but it was so foul...I couldn't help but grimace."

The decanter began to pour water into the second glass. Sarah watched as Severus reached over and took the spoon from the first glass, using it to stir the liquid carefully. She was impressed by the beautiful, shimmering opacity that developed.

He removed the spoon and laid it carefully on the tray. "Whenever you are ready," he said softly. The fairy looked confused as the bottle tilted once more and began to pour brilliant green liquid into the remaining two glasses.

She made no move, as it had not quite reached the degree of cloudiness she preferred. Once it did, she would want to drink it quickly; it became even more unpalatable if the water warmed too much, and besides, the effects were not very long-lived. To get the best effects required drinking two glasses in short succession, and she wasn't surprised that he had thought of this ahead of time.

The absinthe had reached its louché, and Sarah waited a few moments longer for Severus's glass to develop the same opacity. "What shall we drink to?" she asked.

"What did you drink to at Das Herrenhaus?"

"The honor of the Grindelwalds."

"Ah. Well. To the Headmaster, then?"

"The Headmaster," she said, touching her glass to his, and raising it to her lips.

The first taste was very nearly her undoing. His absinthe was more than potent. It was incredible. The anise flavor was strong, but it was underscored by a swirl of juniper and coriander. There were other notes she couldn't identify, and then, just before the next sip, there was the tiniest aftertaste of nutmeg. "This is brilliant," she said, taking another sip.

"It is," he said, looking appreciatively at his own glass, "exceedingly fine."

She drained her glass, setting it down on the tray, and began to stir the next one. Already she felt the effects of the powerful liquor seeping into her system. There was a faint buzzing in her ears. The louché began to build, and after it had achieved the proper opacity she lifted the glass. "To surviving."

He raised an eyebrow at that, but clinked her glass without further comment and took a long sip.

For a moment she thought she might be progressing too quickly. This was incredibly powerful absinthe, after all, and she hadn't indulged in over a year. It was too beautiful to resist, though, and she drained the glass, delighting in the bitter, licorice flavor that she had missed.

They sat in silence and regarded each other bemusedly. Sarah placed the empty glass on the tray and leaned back in the chair, resting her head on the upper edge. It felt completely odd but exhilarating; she had sat perfectly upright for so many years that her back creaked in protest, unused to this relaxed posture. A few of her scars felt tight and uncomfortable, but it was nothing compared to what she had lived with for so many years, and she felt herself relaxing.

The room began to darken noticeably, and she opened her eyes wider. The bookshelves receded, and the ceiling slowly faded out of sight. It became blacker still, and her fingers tingled as the inexorable rush of the absinthe took hold of her, thrumming in her veins.

It was cold, suddenly, a powerful cold that chilled her bones. The dark was more than dark, it was like the black vacuum of space, harsh and overwhelming. There was a sun, blazing in the corner, but it was far away, a lifetime's journey from her chair. Stars began to glow; each one had a high-pitched, tinny voice, and they winked in and out of the walls, dancing and twirling in her peripheral vision, but pausing whenever she looked directly at them. A planet formed, booming like thunder, rings circling it dizzily.

The moon was shining green, intense, and it grew larger and larger, filling her vision with its absinthe-colored light. It came closer and closer until it blotted out the stars, which chirruped faintly. There was the smell of licorice, then, and suddenly the moon was kissing her, its mouth a supernova against her own. Hands grasped her robes, pulling her closer still, and she gasped in shock as her fingers connected with skin. Severus was the moon, and she touched him, her fingertips somehow tasting sugar on his neck, gritty and sweet. His lips grew hotter still. His eyes were as black as craters, and they pierced her, they were elliptical, they were as cold as frost.

The absinthe color melted away and turned to a faint blush. He laughed. "You look like belladonna," he murmured against her mouth.

"You look like the moon," she said wonderingly. He was the Harvest Moon, now cinnamon colored, now blood-red, now rust, the stars were shooting across the sky, now they were embers falling into her hair. She reached out and the heady smell of mangoes suddenly filled her hands. His own hands trailed like comets across her face.

Her palms were caught in his gravity, inexorably dragged towards him, his radiant heat singeing them. His heartbeat rose above the quivering notes of the stars, the vibrations filling the air with luminous fluttering moths. He kissed her again, and he tasted like fire and weariness and gold. The bitter flavor of anise wound around her tongue, caressing it. Her fingertips were molten now, tangled in spider webs. He made a noise that could have been a word or a stone. He was so close, so close, and his teeth grazed her ear, his voice a silken band around her neck.

There was a long, breathless pause, while he turned from rust to sallow, diminishing, and then she suddenly realized that they were standing, pressed up against each other, her hands tangled in his hair.

"Oh," she said stupidly.

They stared at each other in shock. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

"I wasn't expecting..." he began.

"Nor I," she said, too quickly. She pulled her hands out of his hair. They felt slightly damp. "I'm sorry—"

"I apologize—" he started to say at the same time.

"It was...the absinthe was brilliant, Severus," she said, awkwardly trying to compose herself. "Thank you for the invitation."

He stood stiffly in front of her, looking embarrassed. "Yes, of course." A planet stared at her balefully from above his right shoulder.

"Well, good night, then." She brushed the front of her robes with her hands, straightening them.

"Yes, yes, good night." His voice sounded strained.

She turned and walked out of the room. As she reached the doorway, she looked back to see him raking a hand through his hair and cursing softly.

The stairs that led out of the dungeon were hard to negotiate. She stumbled twice. She reached the hallway, thankful that she hadn't encountered anyone, and went into her office, closing the door behind her and leaning against it.

She breathed, in and out, one hand against the rough wood, until she realized that the door was breathing as well, a different rhythm than her own. She pushed away from it, trying to regain control. A single star bounced merrily among the papers on her desk, singing a strange, tinny song, and she closed her eyes and counted to ten. It was the most potent absinthe she'd ever ingested, and the aftereffects were lingering longer than expected.

Severus had kissed her.

She wrapped her arms around her body, trying to dispel the shivers. Part of her was frightened at the way the day had turned out; part of her wanted to go back down into the cold of the dungeons and ask for warmth.

It was late, too late, and she opened the door to her bedroom. She needed to sleep this off. Tomorrow, things would be clearer.

She dreamt of the moon, slowly orbiting out of reach.


	75. Eye of the Serpent

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

It was early. Too early. Severus rubbed his aching forehead as he pulled on a robe. Even a hot shower hadn't eased his hangover. 

The absinthe was exactly where he had left it the night before, though the empty bottle of firewhisky that had followed it was on the floor. The fairy was reduced to back flips, as she no longer had enough room for cartwheels.

He fingered one of the glasses, remembering the look on Sarah's face as she had indulged, how relaxed she had seemed, how she had looked content to him for the first time.

They had kissed.

He was still shocked by the intensity of the feelings that had accompanied it.

There was a muffled knock at his office door, and he whirled around. His heart squeezed in his chest. It might be Sarah, and he had no idea what to say to her yet. He had no idea what to think, even. Last night still seemed like a strange dream.

His hand rested on the doorknob for a long moment before he opened the door, only to find Pomona, who looked positively grim. She handed him the Early Edition of the _Prophet_ without saying a word.

"What's this?" he demanded.

"Look at the headline," she said ominously.

_Grindelwald's Servant Teaches at Hogwarts!_

He swore. Skimming the article made him swear again, even louder.

"There is no way Albus can keep her on now," said Pomona, looking upset. "The parents will force her out. Did you know about this? She's...they make her sound like a monster!"

The article was everything Sarah had said last night at the Order meeting, some of it nearly verbatim. "I knew of some things," he said carefully, opening to the second page and continuing to scan.

"She practices blood magic!" said Pomona, sounding distressed. "I thought she seemed aloof...reserved...but this...Severus, she kills things. She kills wizards! She uses their blood for spells. I thought Silas was exaggerating about her, but here it is, worse than he ever hinted at." She paused for a moment. "Could they have made this up, do you think? They were awfully nasty to Harry two years ago..."

"I need to go speak with Sarah," he said abruptly. "May I take this?"

"Well, yes," she said, looking displeased. "Yes, of course."

A flight of stairs and a hallway later, he was pounding on her door. There was no answer. He let himself into her office, clutching the paper so tightly his fingers hurt. His mind raced. Who could have betrayed the Order like this? Fletcher? One of the red-haired menaces?

Could it have been Silas? Severus nearly growled at the thought. Silas had promised, like the rest of them, not to break Sarah's confidence. The very idea made his blood boil.

The door to her bedroom was ajar, but she was nowhere to be seen. He noticed a closed door at the far end of the bedroom, and yanked it open.

Sarah looked up at him, surprise on her face. She was reclining in a steaming tub of water, her hair slicked back, one long arm resting on the edge. "Good morning, Severus."

"Ah..." His hand was frozen on the doorknob as he stood there awkwardly.

"Either come in and close the door, or get out and close the door. You're letting in cold air."

He took a step in and closed the door behind him. For a moment all he could do was stare. He had seen her naked before, of course, but this was unexpected, and after last night it seemed different. He blinked, and then remembered the article. "The early edition of the _Prophet_ has come in," he said, controlling his voice as best as possible.

"And you need help with the crossword puzzle?" she said, a rare smile appearing.

"No, nothing so pleasant," he said quietly.

"Well," she said, the smile disappearing. "I suppose it was time to get out anyway." She picked up her wand, which had been resting on a low table next to the bath. Stepping out of the tub stiffly, she cast a few drying charms, and then gestured to a pile of clothing. He averted his eyes as she put on her undergarments and pulled on her robe. The door opened, and her boots came floating in. She used her wand to put them on one foot at a time, a system she must have developed when she had been unable to lean forward without pain. "Tell me about this article, then."

"Here." He handed it to her, wincing inwardly. Her eyes seemed at ease, and he was angry at the paper, knowing it would upset her.

She gasped at the headline. "Oh no," she murmured, her eyes swiftly moving back and forth across the page. When she turned to the second page, she frowned. "This...this is what I said at that meeting last night?"

"Yes."

"Everything?"

"Yes. Some of it is nearly verbatim, in fact."

"There was nothing else," she pressed, glancing at him.

"No," he answered, puzzled.

She seemed both sad and relieved at the same time. "I wonder how long it will take for the parents to rise up and demand my resignation," she said softly. "I was actually beginning to enjoy teaching..."

"Not long, I would imagine," he answered.

She read the article once more as she stood there, and he watched her face closely. Her expression was one of intense concentration. "Thank you for bringing it to my attention," she said finally, handing it back to him. "I was planning on heading to the Great Hall for breakfast. Would you care to join me?"

He was speechless for a moment, but then he had to admit that there was little she could do at the moment. "You will speak to the Headmaster, I assume?"

"Of course," she said, walking out into the hall. He had no choice but to follow.

* * *

The sleeping rooster was warm under Sarah's left arm. The school was quiet tonight, in the manner of Sunday nights. She supposed that most of the children were studying, or in their common rooms. 

She felt different. It was almost as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders when she woke in the morning; she felt lighter. Even the article hadn't affected her as strongly as it could have. The fact that part of her past had been revealed had ironically freed her as well as damned her. She no longer had to be concerned about concealing her secrets. There were worse things on the horizon now, things that spelled her resignation, and more hiding, but still, she couldn't help but feel as if the largest part of her worrying had vanished.

There was also the matter of the kiss. It had been unexpected, but she knew from long familiarity that absinthe tended to bring out things that were hidden, emotions that could not be admitted to in the harsh light of day. He had kissed her, and she had responded, and she knew that somewhere within her she had desired it. It seemed so strange, she reflected; for years he had haunted her waking thoughts, and despite the negative associations, she found herself attracted to him.

She could hear footsteps in the distance around the corner, and wondered who it might be. Her errand wasn't exactly sanctioned by the Headmaster, though he knew of it, and he had made it plain; the fewer who knew, the better. Steeling her nerves, she continued her course, trying to conceal the rooster.

Turning the corner, she sighed in relief. It was Severus, robes billowing as usual, and he looked at her quizzically as he came to a stop in front of her.

"Good afternoon," she said.

He arched an eyebrow and looked pointedly at the sleeping rooster.

"It's...a bit of a story," she hedged. When it became obvious that he was going to wait until she told it, she sighed. "Follow me." The abandoned girls' bathroom was near, and she noticed that he hesitated before he went through the door behind her.

"What, exactly, are you doing?" he said, when she finally stood before the wall of sinks. Sudden realization dawned on his face. "This is the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets."

"Yes," she replied.

He looked at the rooster again. "You think there might be another basilisk."

"Yes."

"And you were planning on going by yourself."

"Well, technically the rooster is accompanying me..."

He sneered. "I'm certain that his company is beyond reproach, but hopefully you won't refuse mine as well."

She hesitated. "I'm not certain that it's necessary...but you're welcome to join me, if you wish." She turned to the sinks and began to examine the taps, until she found one with a snake scratched into it. He was silent beside her, and she wondered what he thought of last night, and if he regretted it.

Taking out her knife, she poked a fingertip and caressed the cold bronze of the tap with the blood. After a moment, it spun, glowing, and the sink slid down into the floor, revealing an open pipe. Her seal was still intact, and she released it.

Judging the dimension of the hole, she went to the wooden doors of the stall and used her wand to slice out two round discs. She dropped them into the pipe and they slid out of sight with a scraping sound. "Shall we?"

"What were those for?" he asked, looking perplexed.

"I couldn't find any other easily accessible exits last time," she said. "I used a disk as a platform, and levitated myself back up the tunnel while standing on it."

She awkwardly climbed in first. The pipe was full of twists and turns, slimy and cold. It was pitch black after a few feet, but she could not draw her wand for light, because she was holding onto the rooster with both hands as she slid down into the depths of the school.

The pipe opened up unexpectedly, and she fell to the ground in a tangle of robes. Rubbing her elbow, she stood up, sidestepping the entrance. She drew her wand. "_Lumos._" The tip glowed with a soft blue light.

There was a muffled thump and a curse, and then Severus was getting to his feet behind her, looking down at his robes with an expression of disgust.

"I should have warned you about the slime," she said. "Sorry. Can you hold him for a moment?"

He took the rooster from her, scowling.

"And my wand?" She handed it to him, drawing her knife again. "I realize that you are a competent wizard, and no doubt you have an idea of what you would do if faced with an adult basilisk, but I have a spell that might help." Slicing the back of her hand in a practiced gesture, she daubed the blood onto her fingertips, concentrating on the effect. "Close your eyes..."

He looked apprehensive for a moment. "What, exactly..."

"Explaining it will take longer than seeing it for yourself," she said. He reluctantly closed his eyes. "This will feel a little cold, I'm sorry." She reached up and lightly smeared his right eyelid with blood.

He stepped back suddenly and opened his eyes in surprise. "What are you doing?"

"I'm smearing blood on your eyelids," she said. "Stand still so I can finish."

He closed his eyes again, wincing as she touched his right eyelid, and again when she touched his left. "Are you finished yet?"

"Yes." She closed her own eyes and repeated the spell.

"Are you going to tell me what it is you've cast?" he said impatiently.

"Close your eyes again and it should become obvious."

He handed her the rooster and her wand, and closed his eyes. "I see nothing out of the ordinary...ah."

"It's a bit disorienting, I know."

"How exactly does it work?" He waved one hand in front of his face.

"You aren't actually _looking_ at anything," she said, adjusting the rooster under her arm. "You are seeing what the blood itself is able to 'see.' It isn't like looking through a pane of glass, or into a mirror...it's almost as if...someone else is looking at it _for_ you, and drawing what they see." She closed her own eyes. Before her, limned in an eerie faint glow, she could see Severus and the outline of the pipe. It was shaky, at best, but certainly better than the alternative.

"It can thwart a basilisk's gaze, then? Interesting." He spread his fingers out and wiggled them. "It's rather sketchy, though."

"Well, yes, but at least you will be able to gauge where the basilisk is. If there is a basilisk."

"You think there might not be one?"

"When I was here last, the basilisk was rather underdeveloped, and easily dispatched. I'm not certain what will happen this time. The magic in the chamber is tremendously powerful, but it's very old. It might not have hatched a new basilisk yet. Or we might be facing an adult one...hence the rooster. And the spell." She opened her eyes.

His were still closed, and he took a tentative step forward.

"Hopefully we won't need either," she added. She turned and looked into the blackness, gripping her wand tightly.

"This way, then?" said Severus, opening his eyes. The tunnel loomed in front of them, dark and suffocating.

"Yes." As they walked, she felt acutely aware of his presence next to her.

"Slytherin created all of this with blood magic?" asked Severus quietly.

"Some of it," she said. "If you were more familiar with the bloodsight, you would have noticed earlier that the walls are much more vivid than they normally are with this spell."

"Ah."

Bones crackled underneath their feet as they walked further down the tunnel. "I have been meaning to tell you," she began, "that on Friday evening I was approached by a student of yours."

"Who?" he asked, looking guarded.

"Nott." She raised her wand hand higher, to better illuminate a rather pronounced left-hand turn in the tunnel. "He offered me a deal, which he said was from the Dark Lord."

Severus stopped and turned toward her, his face unreadable. "A deal?"

"He had a bit of parchment with him. It bore the Dark Mark, in wax," she said, stopping as well. "I think it might have actually been legitimate, though I didn't touch it. Nott had already broken the seal, and he told me that the Dark Lord was willing to repeat my arrangement with Erich."

"Nott had already read it, then."

"Yes."

"What was the incentive the Dark Lord offered you?"

She smiled ruefully. Severus was sharp as a knife, and clearly knew the ways of the Dark Lord only too well. "He said that he would protect me from...Lucius. In return, I would provide him with research. Obviously he didn't fully understand the details of my time at Das Herrenhaus."

"That's rather surprising," said Severus thoughtfully.

"It is probable that he didn't think it likely that a seventy year old wizard would dally with a witch barely in her twenties."

Severus's eyebrows threatened to disappear into his hairline. "Grindelwald was _seventy_?"

"When I first met him, yes," she said. "He was nearly ninety when...at the end." Severus had a strange look on his face, but she pressed forward nonetheless. "When I wouldn't accept the offer, Nott demanded that I teach _him_ blood magic."

"You refused."

"Yes, of course. I have no wish to perpetuate blood magic. He pushed the issue, however, and threatened to leak information to the public about me."

"Do you think he was behind the article?"

"No," she said, shifting the rooster a bit higher under her arm. "Not unless he's a part of your...organization, which I highly doubt." Snape inclined his head in agreement. "When I wouldn't give in, he threatened you."

"Really." He seemed almost amused.

"He said that he could keep the Dark Lord from murdering you."

There was a pause, and then Severus laughed bitterly. "He thinks he's become one of the favored, I see. He'll realize, in time, that the Dark Lord has no favorites, only tools."

"He seemed fairly confident. He wears the Dark Mark, as well." She turned and began walking down the tunnel once more. "And the Dark Lord is sending him private missives, apparently. He bears watching."

"True." Severus walked beside her, seemingly lost in thought.

There was a room up ahead, and the light from her wand reflected eerily on the shed basilisk skin that lay inside. It was faded and blotchy, but here and there vivid green patches remained, gleaming. Part of the room had caved in, and she picked her way through the stones, much as she had the first time. Severus followed behind her, navigating the rocks with ease.

Eventually they came to the other side, and back into another gloomy corridor. They were both silent as they walked the narrow stone passage. It ended at an open doorway, flanked by intricately carved doors. She nodded to Severus, pointing to her eyes again to remind him of the blood magic she had cast.

The room was just as impressive as the last time she had seen it. It was huge, long and vaguely lit, with carved serpentine stone pillars that vanished into the darkness above. She changed her grip on the rooster, and put out the light on her wand.

Blood magic ran deep in this room. Sarah could feel it thrumming under her feet, powerful and undiminished despite its age. In fact, she suspected that it had grown in strength since Salazar's time. Hogwarts seemed to have a particular presence, a near-sentient feeling about it, and it was even more palpable here in the Chamber of Secrets.

There was a stirring sound, deep within the chamber, and her skin crawled. It was the dry sound of scales rubbing on stone, and it was louder than expected. This snake was obviously far larger than the last one had been, and her stomach clenched. It would not be as easy to kill.

She glanced at Severus, who seemed to understand what she had guessed, and he nodded. A few more cautious steps, and the statue of Salazar that dominated most of the opposite wall came into view. Its enormous mouth was agape, the black hole unsettling. The stirring sound grew louder, and she turned to Severus and gestured at him to close his eyes. He hesitated, but only for a moment. She did not bother muffling her footsteps as she approached the statue, knowing that it was useless. The creature had felt the vibrations from the first step they had taken into the chamber.

She put the bird on the floor, where it lay as if dead. Making a quick cut to her hand with her knife, she smeared its beak with blood, bringing it out of its enchanted slumber. Its eyes blinked open and it stood up, ruffling its feathers.

The basilisk hissed, and she closed her eyes just in time to see it slither into view. Her heart skipped a beat. It wasn't the largest she had seen, but it was mature enough to be in full possession of its powers. She looked down to see the reddish outline of the rooster freeze in place.

"Crow, you stupid thing!" she said, panicking. The rooster made no move at all except to shiver violently.

Severus grabbed her arm and dragged her backwards as the basilisk began to snake forward. The bloodsight revealed the serpent not as a faint outline, but as bright as if illuminated by daylight, sinuous and fanged in all of its malevolent, green glory. Next to her, Severus was a faint, blurred, dream image, and she heard him swear under his breath.

The basilisk reared back, and she marveled at its flawless coat of scales. Its amber eyes shone with a peculiar light that seemed to seek her out. It was almost painful against her eyelids, like waves of cold.

The serpent's tail twitched, and it hissed, loudly. Its fangs gleamed in the scant light as it surveyed them balefully, its long, forked tongue sampling the air.

A quick glance showed that the rooster was in its path, still frozen. If the basilisk lunged it would be crushed, and that would destroy their only chance to end it quickly. She wasn't certain she could kill it at all without the rooster.

Severus stopped, as it was clearly useless to back up any further. "_Conjunctivis_!" he shouted. The basilisk swayed hypnotically, and the hex flew past it.

Sarah flicked her wand. "_Leviosa_," she said. The rooster floated upwards, and she made another impatient gesture, bringing it toward her.

The basilisk was gathering itself for the strike, and Sarah realized who its intended target was. "Run!" she shouted to him.

Severus paid her not the slightest mind. He stood still, and for a single, terrifying moment she thought he had been petrified until she heard him muttering. He slashed at the air with his wand, making an unfamiliar pattern.

The rooster was still sailing toward her, as if in slow motion.

She had two choices. She could stop the Levitation spell and drop the rooster, and try to save Severus, but lose the chance for the bird to finish off the monster quickly. Or she could hope that he had something up his sleeve and was able to hold off a nearly full-grown basilisk by himself, which would be quite a feat.

She only had a moment to decide. The rooster was still in the air as the basilisk reared back, hissing, its fangs gleaming.

As much as she wanted to keep Severus from harm, she had to keep the bird alive at all costs. She had no other way of killing a basilisk this powerful as quickly. She would just have to hope that Severus had a healing potion on his person, or that she could keep him alive while using a voice amplification spell to call for help.

There was a tremendous rush of air as the basilisk lunged forward, its mouth gaping. The green scales were a blur as it charged towards Severus. She found herself inhaling in fright.

"Watch out!" she cried. The rooster was still sailing toward her, and almost struck her in the head. She plucked it out of the air and turned to run, but stepped on the hem of her robe and nearly fell flat on her face instead.

She turned back just in time to see the basilisk strike Severus with all of its strength.

There was a deafening _clang_ as it crashed into an invisible shield. Sarah put her free hand over one ear and winced as the beast reared back, spitting hideously. One of its fangs stuck out at an odd angle. It shook its head, and the fang fell out, spattering the floor with blood and venom. Severus backed away slowly, his entire body tense, and she felt a touch of awe. A shielding spell that powerful was impressive, though difficult to maintain. Already it had dissipated.

Its tail lashing in pain and fury, the basilisk weaved back and forth, striking one of the stone pillars. Blood dripped freely from its wounded mouth.

She dropped the rooster to the floor. "Crow!" she demanded. The bird only shuddered in terror. Flicking her wand, she cast a Cheering Charm in desperation. "Now, you stupid bird!"

The rooster puffed up suddenly, and strutted forward, looking excited.

Severus was next to her, his outline wavering against the brilliant glow of the serpent. "If we distract it, we might be able to make it back to the cave-in, and the basilisk will have difficulty getting past the fallen rocks," he said.

The serpent ceased to spit. Its forked tongue quivered as it tasted the air, and it turned to look at them with such malice in its eyes that Sarah shivered. "I don't think we have enough time," she said. She pocketed her wand and cut the back of her hand carelessly, taking as much blood as she could onto her fingertips. "They don't like cold...I will try to cause it pain while you get the Headmaster." The blood began to steam as she cooled it.

"Absolutely not," he said, sounding furious. "You will go to the Headmaster, and I will stay—"

Suddenly the rooster crowed loudly. The basilisk reared again, but this time in fright, its tail crashing into one of the pillars with a deafening bang. The rooster crowed again, and again, and the monster shuddered and writhed in agony, coiling around itself, its scales rubbing together with a horrible dry noise. A moment longer, and it fell to the ground, dead, and the entire chamber shook.

Sarah took a deep breath and then another, letting the icy blood she'd created fall to the ground. The rooster kept crowing raucously, and she resisted the urge to kick it.

"It's dead." Severus looked at it warily.

"Yes," she said, wiping her hand on her robe and walking unsteadily toward the body. She inspected it carefully. "It was...larger than I expected."

"It's not as large as the shed skin in the corridor," he said. Already he was completely in control again, his black eyes regarding the serpent keenly.

"Yes, well, that wasn't from this creature," she said. "That was from the beast that the Potter boy killed."

Severus grimaced at that. His eyes wandered toward the now-cheery bird, and he pointed at it with his wand. "Your rooster came close to becoming an ingredient for a potion tonight."

"He's not mine. I borrowed him from Hagrid." She pocketed her knife.

"Hagrid let you take one of his birds? I'm surprised." He put his wand away as well.

"He doesn't know that I borrowed him."

Severus smirked and continued to examine the carcass. "The eyes are a particularly prized potion ingredient," he murmured. "Basilisks are one of the most powerful serpents...I'm surprised, actually, that you don't want to harvest any of its blood."

"It's too late for that; it's already dead." She shivered. "And basilisk's blood has only one purpose in blood magic."

He looked puzzled for a moment, but then seemed to remember its use in the Undying Devotion spell. He shot her a look that was almost apologetic. "I see." An uncomfortable pause followed.

The rooster was now perched on top of the serpent, strutting with its chest puffed out.

Severus gingerly examined the remaining fang, and then stepped back, surveying the monster. "When I was younger, I used to wish that I had a basilisk at my command."

She looked at him, surprised that he was volunteering such information. "I was always partial to crups, myself."

"Crups don't petrify your enemies," he said darkly.

"No, that's true. They're more partial to chasing after kneazles." She paused for a moment. "You hoped to control the basilisk as a young man, then? To further your usefulness to the Dark Lord?"

He looked startled. "No, of course not. It was while I attended Hogwarts." He regarded the serpent again with a strange, bemused look on his face. "I often hoped that one would enter the Great Hall while all of the students were there, and bow down before me..."

"I would have been quite impressed at the time, were I not dead, or lucky enough to be only petrified, along with the rest of your audience." She watched as the rooster slipped, and then regained its footing with a cry of triumph.

He looked annoyed. "I assure you I was only thinking of people I hated at that time."

"There were other students that you hated enough to want to destroy?"

His gaze seemed to pierce her. "It's why the Dark Lord found it so easy to recruit me."

"Ah," she said, though she didn't understand what he meant.

He turned and looked around. "I've read that Slytherin had many followers here at Hogwarts..."

"Many of his closest friends and pupils helped him in the chamber's construction." She checked the hem of her robe; it had torn where she'd stepped on it. "The other Founders knew that he was creating something, but had no idea of its scope...or its purpose. Use the bloodsight; you'll see that the statue is quite impressive."

He closed his eyes. The smears of blood on his eyelids were very dark against his skin. "The statue..."

She closed her own eyes, and the statue of Slytherin glimmered in front of her. She reopened them to see plain, grey stone again. There was a faint crawling sensation under her skin, and she glanced towards the passageway, thinking that it was time to leave. "Well, now that the basilisk is dispatched..."

He frowned, and began to walk purposefully toward the statue.

"What is it?" she asked. Worried, she followed him.

"This," he said, bending down to look at a pile of identical smooth stones at the base of the statue. "Do you see?"

"Yes, I know, one glows," she said. "I noticed it last time, as well."

He retrieved the stone in question. "You don't think it odd that these stones are duplicates of each other, and that only one is enchanted?" He looked strange, holding a stone up to her face for her to see, while his own eyes were closed.

She shrugged. "It might have been a way to pass time. Perhaps he used it to practice a blood magic technique."

He opened his eyes, and looked at the statue. They stood near one of its giant feet, and this close, she could see snakes carved into the stone next to it. He gestured toward one serpentine image. "Don't you see?"

Unlike all of the other snakes, it was missing an eye. Severus reached up and placed the stone in the empty socket.

"Wait!" she said, alarmed, but it was too late. There was a whisper of sound, and then the quiet grinding of stone. A door that had been cleverly concealed by the intertwined snake carvings appeared, and swung open into a dark passageway.

"_Lumos_," said Severus, and his wand flared to life.

"This is not a good idea," she said, grabbing his arm.

He looked at her, nonplussed. "Do you sense something untoward here?"

"Not exactly, no," she hedged.

"I know where this leads," he said, and she could see the excitement in his eyes. "This leads to Slytherin's private study."

"I don't see how you could possibly know that."

"It doesn't take many guesses to figure it out." He smoothly slid out of her grasp and began to walk down the tunnel.

He'd been part of the Dark Lord's circle, and he was Head of Slytherin, she reflected; that could explain how he knew. "We should show this to the Headmaster..."

"Absolutely," he agreed.

The hallway was very short, and led to a deserted room. She looked around curiously. Few items remained. A wooden desk, half rotted into nothingness; an empty wine rack carved from stone; a few empty bottles. "I think you're right," she marveled. The back of her neck prickled, and she felt chilled. The air seemed unnaturally heavy.

"When I became the Head of Slytherin, I was given an old trunk full of parchments," he said, investigating the empty slots in the wine rack. "It contained many pieces of correspondence from past Heads of Slytherin. There were some very early letters, as well, written by Slytherin himself. Several of them mention his study, where he worked as he built the Chamber of Secrets."

"I've never heard of such a thing," she said, lightly running her fingers across the surface of the desk. They left faint trails in the dust.

"He must have wanted a place close to the chamber. Somewhere he could peruse the plans, and keep an eye on his workers, yet escape to the school at a moment's notice. There were rumored to be passages here...one to the Slytherin common room, and one to private quarters in the dungeons. I've always been curious about them." He looked deeper into one of the spaces in the wine rack, and pulled a folded bit of parchment out, looking at it speculatively before thrusting it into his pocket.

There were two doors in the shadows, faded and covered in dust. "Don't touch them," she warned as he stepped toward one. "They're heavily enchanted." The feeling of _wrongness_ in the air was intensifying. "I think we should leave."

"Why is that?"

"I should never have followed you in here," she said. "I'm not a pure-blood. I think there are watching spells..."

He seemed to understand, then, and she turned and walked swiftly down the passageway toward the gloomy light of the chamber.

There was a whisper of sound that sounded strangely familiar. She turned to look at Severus. "The door!"

A loud grinding noise echoed in the air, and she broke into a run as the door began to slide shut.

He was right behind her, and he shoved her through bodily. She struck the stone floor with a gasp. He cursed as he slid past the opening and just managed to bring his foot through as the door sealed itself in place again.

The stone fell out of the eye of the snake, and rolled back to the pile.

"_Diffindo_," said Severus, sounding disgusted as he cut the back of his robe free from the door, where it was caught.

She stood up and rubbed her now twice-bruised elbow. The rooster crowed triumphantly from behind them.

"Apparently we weren't welcome," he said, brushing dust off his robes.

"I don't know...the study seemed almost...curious about us," she mused. "It felt as if it was tolerating us, allowing us to look for a moment, before it decided to react."

He patched the tear inelegantly, frowning. "No one's disturbed it for a thousand years, I would say. The Headmaster has never mentioned it to me...I doubt he knows it's there."

"I thought that the protective spells might not be triggered because I'm a Sanguimagus, but apparently I was wrong." The feeling of _pressure_ was still there, if mostly diminished, and she had no wish to stay longer.

"It could have been my presence, as well," he said quietly.

She stared at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not a pure-blood." The expression on his face was inscrutable.

"But you were a Death Eater." Her mind whirled. "You're the Head of Slytherin..."

He nodded.

"You had to fool a great many people, then," she said wonderingly. "And for years, no less." Yes, he was as sharp as a knife. "That is..." She shook her head. Now was not the time for conversations. "We should go." She turned away from the now-hidden door.

They walked past the snake's carcass, and Sarah gestured with her wand, levitating the rooster in mid-crow. It gave out an indignant squawk. Severus gave one last lingering glance to the basilisk as they entered the tunnel.

The rooster was irritable, and she had to use two hands to restrain him. It was a losing battle, though, and she finally dropped it on the floor when they reached the room with the shed skin.

She poked a finger with her knife, and concentrated. Blood rose like a ribbon from her fingertip, winding toward the rooster and enveloping it in a thin mist of red. It promptly fell over.

Severus raised an eyebrow.

"It's just asleep," she said, picking up the infuriating bird and tucking it under one arm.

They walked in silence for a few steps, until Severus looked at her again, his expression unreadable. "I assume that you've spoken with the Headmaster about the article. What are your plans?"

"I will try to maintain my position as long as I possibly can," she said quietly. "He said he would defend me as best as he was able. He mentioned, again, that I would have a place here at Hogwarts, even if I am stripped of my teaching position."

"What will you do if the Wizengamot decides that you are to be sent to Azkaban?" His dark eyes focused on hers, and she was acutely aware of the way they seemed to pierce her.

"The Headmaster has made arrangements," she replied. "That's all he would say."

Severus stared at her for a long moment before nodding. "And do you have your own plan?"

"Run." She brushed a stray wisp of hair from her face. "Not very subtle, I know."

"It's just what the Dark Lord will expect you to do." Severus looked as impassive as ever, except for his eyes, which glittered strangely. "There must be somewhere you can go."

"Where?" she said. "My father's house? I've been cast out. Das Herrenhaus? Gone. My mother's family is long since buried. I have no one left but the Headmaster, and should something happen to him..."

Severus grew quiet as they drew near the tunnel that led back up to the castle.

The wooden disks lay where she had left them, and she briefly wondered how to manage levitating a disk and holding onto a rooster at the same time. She looked up into the tunnel. Perhaps she could levitate the rooster up by itself, if she could remember the twists and turns...

His hand was on her arm. He pulled her around, pressing her against the wall, and leaned down to kiss her. It was no gentle, dreamy kiss like the night before; it was fierce, yet awkward. She was trapped between him and the cold stone behind her, and caught by surprise. She pushed him away.

The hurt on his face blazed, and she almost thought he was going to hex her. His hands were clenched. She stood for a moment, frozen. He had seemed almost...inexperienced, self-conscious, without the absinthe to strip away his inhibitions.

If she did not do something quickly, his pride would be injured, perhaps enough to eschew her. He was her only real friend in the castle. Worse yet, she found herself _wanting_ to kiss him again.

She stepped toward him, and he regarded her warily. The vulnerability in his eyes was all it took for her to put her hand on his shoulder, and he brought his face closer, uncertain. He tried to kiss her again, too aggressively, and she backed away slightly before carefully touching her lips to his gently. He did not close his eyes, and it bothered her, but she tried to simply lose herself in the kiss. _I miss Erich_, she thought; he'd been an extraordinary kisser.

Severus suddenly broke the kiss, looking away, his eyes dark. His entire body radiated tension.

She had no idea what to think. One moment he was devouring her, the next, cold as a thestral's heart.

She suddenly felt overwhelmed by the events of the evening. She turned and levitated one of the wooden disks. "Get on, and I'll send you and the rooster up."

"You first," he said softly. His tone made her shiver; she knew it meant that he was angry.

"Fine," she said, standing on the disk. She held the rooster tightly and sent herself through, not bothering to wait for him.

The castle was quiet, and she encountered only ghosts on her way to the front door.

The cold winter air chilled her to the bone, and she cast a warming charm as she made her way toward Hagrid's hut. She returned the rooster to Hagrid's enclosure only slightly worse for the wear. Hagrid was nowhere to be seen.

She thought of kissing Severus, and felt a twist of unease. Simple, sweet men did not attract her; they never had. _Instead of Emil, I choose Erich; and now Severus. Complicated men. Difficult men._

With a sudden start, she remembered that he was a Legilimens. Could he have seen her thoughts of Erich as she kissed him? She cursed aloud. It would certainly explain his change of mood.

She was very near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and the icy wind that sprang up from its depths cut right through her warming charm. She wished she had a cloak. There was a faint light shining from deep within the forest for a moment, and then it died, leaving the forest bleak and dark again.


	76. Mixed Messages

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

* * *

Severus dreamed.

_He is walking through the woods, the wind rustling and tumbling leaves at his feet. He is drawn forward, pulled toward the heart of the forest._

_The trees shrink from his touch. He can see blank stretches of sky. Not blue, just a puzzling grey, with no sun in sight. _

_He takes step after step, his feet falling at precise intervals, an unknown destination prickling just ahead. His hands tingle. He is being led to something he needs to see._

_Behind the next tree he spots it. A black dog, huge and threatening. It growls. Its muzzle drips with blood and gore._

_Beyond it, a corpse, so familiar, and his heart breaks in his chest even as he cries out, "Albus! No!"_

* * *

Sarah stared at the ceiling of her room, lit by the faint glow of the fireplace. Bits of nightmares still lurked in the corners of her mind, and she knew that sleep would not return to her.

It was far too early to be awake. She could feel the dullness of fatigue in her bones, but her mind was unwilling to sink once again into another unpleasant dream of Severus, or worse, Lucius. She sighed and left the warmth of the bed, putting on her robes and entering her office. The fire rose up in response to a quick flick of her wand, and she sat down on the couch, wishing anew that she could sleep.

The statue she had brought from the storeroom still stood impassively next to the wall. She gestured with her wand, and levitated it closer. She had nearly finished the enchantments that would allow it to monitor the hall in front of her door.

It was sad that it had come to this, having to safeguard herself even inside Hogwarts. She idly cast a few more charms on the statue, watching as the marble absorbed them. The firelight reflecting on its face gave it a dreamy expression.

Her thoughts drifted to kissing Severus. It was foolish to think that she had done it partially because she'd been worried about losing him as a friend and ally; by kissing him she had lost him as a friend just as surely. A line had been crossed that could not be undone.

She had _wanted_ to kiss him.

Another charm struck the surface of the statue and was assimilated, patterns briefly appearing before subsiding into nothingness once more.

She longed for the sharp and uncomplicated mindset that accompanied using the Painstone regularly. It was simple to use logic, to allow the razor of choice to take her down the correct path.

There was no correct path here. Every direction led only to darkness, murky and complicated.

Another spell lit the statue from within, showing key charms and their placements, and she frowned as she rearranged them, alleviating stress points.

She stood up, placing her wand in her pocket and bringing out her knife. She couldn't help but feel superstitious as she did so; there was no real reason to use blood magic on her watching device, honestly, except that it made her feel more secure. Spells could be changed or altered. Blood remained the same.

Faint predawn light filtered in through her windows, giving the room a rosy blush, and she smeared her blood on the statue's forehead, adding her own touch to the enchanted item. It did not seem to absorb it readily, and she was forced to add more power until the blood magic finally slipped in.

Sitting down heavily on the couch, she let out a shaky breath. Not the best way to greet the new day, by far. At least she had no classes to teach.

If she would even be allowed to teach them, after the article.

There was a knock, and she half-turned, surprised. "Enter," she said, pointing her wand at the door, which opened obediently. She felt dizzy and wondered vaguely why Severus hadn't barged in after knocking as he usually did.

Aurora took a step into the room. "Good morning, Sarah. Do you mind?"

Sarah looked up in surprise. "No, certainly not," she said.

"I don't have much time...I still have marking to do after breakfast, but I wanted to speak to you," she said, sitting down in a chair and smoothing her robes with one hand.

Sarah nodded. Black spots formed in her vision and faded. She blinked a few times to clear her head.

"I've read the article," said Aurora simply. "Is it true? Did you do those things?"

Sarah hesitated only for a moment, caught off-guard. "Well...yes."

"You've killed people," she said, her voice full of disbelief.

"Yes."

"You're a Sanguimagus."

"Yes."

Aurora stared at her, her eyes studying her, and there was no sound except for the crackle of the flames in the fireplace. "I misjudged you," she finally said. "When we first met, I thought you were...harmless."

"No one is harmless."

"Yes...but most people aren't murderers." Aurora's gaze was sharp and intense. "Most people don't study Dark Magic."

Sarah put tact aside. "What is it, exactly, that you expect me to say?"

"Silas was right about you." She leaned forward. "You've put the whole school in danger."

"Is that what you think?" Sarah leaned forward as well. "Let me explain the situation to you from my point of view. I am in possession of skills that the Dark Lord would definitely wish to acquire. I also have a Dark item which he has expressed interest in using. I have no desire to see either given to him.

"My paths, such as they are, involve either living here at Hogwarts, crawling under a rock, or self-destruction. I have tried living under a rock, and it's unpleasant, at best. I have no particular care for self-destruction, either. Hogwarts is the best choice for me at the moment."

Aurora's expression was shrewd. "And if You-Know-Who attacks you here? If he threatens students?"

"I'll do what I must," said Sarah, "as I have always done."

They sat in silence. The room grew brighter as the sun rose; Aurora continued to watch her, only making her feel more awkward, until the Astronomy professor appeared to come to some internal decision. "There's one other thing..."

"Yes?"

"Severus."

Sarah was surprised, to say the least, and the confusion must have shown on her face, because Aurora's expression was almost smug.

"When I first started teaching here, I was attracted to him." Aurora leaned back in the chair, which creaked alarmingly. "He was dark, mysterious...a very romantic figure, and we were the same age. One of the other teachers noticed, and took me aside to give me the best advice of my life."

Sarah was having difficulty understanding the point. "Which was...?"

"To view him as a colleague, and nothing more," she said. "I was mistaken about his traits. Over the next few months, as I talked to him and watched him, I saw that he was vindictive, petty, and selfish. He's not a mature person, Sarah, and he's...I just can't see him in any sort of relationship. Ever."

"I see."

"I'm not exaggerating," she continued. "He has a bad temper. He's stubborn, cunning, and he...Sarah, I know you don't want to hear this, but he's the worst possible man to get involved with."

"I understand what you're saying."

Aurora paused, and frowned. "I don't think you do, or he wouldn't be visiting your room so often. I've seen the way you look at him, too, especially recently."

"I've listened to your advice," said Sarah, keeping her tone carefully neutral. "Thank you."

"You've listened," she said shrewdly. "But you haven't really _heard_. When you were first hired, we all thought—"

"Who are you referring to as 'we'?" interrupted Sarah.

"Well, the staff." Aurora looked wary. "Most of us, at least. You were so aloof...and there were these rumors that you had done something awful in your past, and Silas kept saying that you were a Dark witch. You didn't talk to any of us, at first, and then Filius invited you up to our weekly tea, and we were all curious to see if you'd join us.

"There was one Sunday where you stared at Severus, and then you left suddenly, and he got up and followed after you...Pomona noticed, actually, and pointed it out. That's when I knew. I mean, we'd been joking about it for days, and then it turned out to be true." She took a deep breath. "You're feeling something for him, at the very least, and he's feeling something for you. I've known him long enough to be able to see it. That's when I realized I had to say something to you."

Sarah's face was uncomfortably warm. _So they have been talking about me._ It wasn't unexpected, truthfully, but neither was it welcome. She felt Silas's hand at the root of the matter, amplifying the others' unease. "I have listened, and _heard_ your advice, and I must tell you that nothing you have said comes as a surprise."

Aurora blinked. "Oh."

"Severus's nature has been quite evident to me for some time," she added. "Considering my treatment at his hands, I feel that it might, in fact, be even _more_ evident to me than most."

Aurora paled. "Yes, well, I...but you see, he's so different _now_. Once he began spying, he changed quite a bit, or so I hear, though he's still..."

Sarah stood up. "I would like to attend breakfast. Unless, that is, there is some further point to be made..."

Aurora stood up as well. "Yes, well, I warned you," she said in a miffed tone, and left.

Sarah rubbed her eyes, trying to banish the feeling that the day was not going to get any better.

* * *

The corridor rang with footsteps. "We're going to be late for breakfast, Ron, hurry up!" said Hermione.

Ron caught up with them, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry, I overslept."

"We probably shouldn't have stayed up so late," said Harry, feeling just as tired. They'd been discussing the article about Professor Tanner long into the night.

"Watch it!" said Ron as a first year bumped into him.

"S-sorry!" blurted out the boy, who then sped off.

"No running!" called out Hermione, which had no visible effect on the boy.

"First years," said Ron, yawning.

They walked down the marble staircase and turned into the Great Hall. Most of the students were already there, chattering away.

"She's still here!" said Hermione in disbelief, looking toward the end of the hall.

Harry looked up. Tanner sat perfectly still at the head table, ramrod-straight as always, though she seemed paler than usual. He sat down with the others at the Gryffindor table next to Neville and speared a banger with his fork.

Owls streamed in, a bit later than usual. A teeny blur suddenly streaked across the table, knocking over Neville's pumpkin juice. Ron grabbed the tiny owl while it was distracted and tried desperately to untie the small package attached to its foot while it hooted and wiggled in his hand, smearing sticky juice everywhere. "A letter...and Mum's sent me a tart," he said, brightening as he finally wrestled the parcel away from Pigwidgeon, wiping the excess juice on his robes.

Hedwig landed gracefully and dropped a letter into Harry's hand. He immediately recognized Lupin's handwriting, and stashed it in his pocket for later. Hedwig daintily plucked a bit of toast from Harry's plate, pointedly demonstrating her manners. Pigwidgeon was oblivious, however, as he had managed to immerse himself in a pudding, and was now hooting excitedly.

Several owls approached the head table, which was unusual, as the teachers rarely received their mail there. Most of the birds seemed to be flying straight toward Professor Tanner. She looked up with an expression of shock on her face as they began bombarding her with letters.

"Some of those are howlers!" said Ron. "Somebody sent a howler to a teacher? That's mental!"

The owls flew out of the Great Hall, leaving Tanner with a pile of mail on the table in front of her.

"Is she going to ignore them?" said Neville, looking nervous. "It's always better to open them, and fast...the sooner the better."

Nearly everyone was staring at Tanner, teachers included. She brought out her wand and made several intricate gestures, deftly separating the letters into two differently-colored piles, howlers and non-howlers.

"Fifteen howlers, at least," said Ron, taking another drink of pumpkin juice.

Harry could see Tanner's lips move. Her stubby little wand made a quick motion, but he was too far away to hear what she had cast.

The entire pile of howlers suddenly burst into flame, the fire whooshing upward like a bright pillar. There were squeals and fragments of shouting and then there was nothing but ash on the plate.

"I didn't know you could do that," said Ron, sounding impressed.

* * *

Severus regarded lunch as an obstacle. He had many things to accomplish, and little time, but he dared not skip the meal, as it was fuel he would need for the rest of the day.

A day that was passing swiftly. That morning, before breakfast, the Headmaster had asked Severus to brew the Salus Potion, and when he saw the _Daily Prophet_ he understood why. Death Eaters had attacked twice during the night, killing two Ministry workers and their families and destroying their homes. The Headmaster had no time to discuss anything further, being on his way to the Ministry.

Severus shivered, thinking of the black dog, hoping it was not an omen of things to come.

He finished the last of his tea, and strode out of the hall, hoping to use the time he had left before the next class to do some of the exhausting prep work necessary for the Salus Potion. As he crossed the entrance hall, he noticed a grim-faced Minerva making her way toward the marble staircase with an older witch and wizard in tow. He wondered who they were. They didn't seem the right age to have a child currently attending Hogwarts, though it wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility.

He walked swiftly down the steps to the dungeon, and tried to shift his mind to the potion instead, but it wandered to Sarah. She confused him. The night before had seen such a dichotomy of emotions that he was still puzzling them out.

He wanted to be near her, yet at the same time he wanted to stay as far away as possible. He needed to keep his hands clean. With his ostracism from the Death Eaters complete, he had only the Order to rely upon to keep him from Azkaban. Throwing his lot in with Sarah could only complicate things and jeopardize his uneasy balance with the other Order members. And why should he? She might be using him for his connections. Clearly she still had feelings for Grindelwald, which hurt to even think about.

Nothing could ever be simple. He wanted to see the destruction of the Dark Lord, and be alive and well afterward. Sarah did not fit into his carefully-laid plans. He tried to bring his mind back under the discipline of brewing potions, but he could not stop thinking of her.

He sat down at his worktable and put his head in his hands. As much as he was loath to admit it, his endgame had changed, and he would have to plan accordingly. He could no longer deny that he felt something for Sarah. He wanted her to survive the destruction of the Dark Lord.

* * *

The afternoon sun streamed into the Gryffindor common room, and Harry put the finishing touches on his Potions essay. It wasn't often that he finished homework early, but Hermione had insisted that they use their free afternoon wisely, and he had to admit that it felt good to be ahead for once.

Snape had been quite preoccupied during their class earlier, but that didn't mean the essay he'd assigned had been any shorter than usual. Ron had complained about it during lunch incessantly. Harry rolled up his parchment and put it aside.

The letter in his pocket poked him in the arm as he did so, and he pulled it out, looking around to make certain they were alone.

"Who's that from?" asked Ron.

"Lupin," said Harry, opening it and scanning it quickly. Hermione looked up from her essay. "Says he looks forward to seeing us over the holidays...wants to make certain you both have permission to stay over."

"I've already spoken to my parents," said Hermione.

"Anything else?" asked Ron.

"Bad news," said Harry, frowning. "Kreacher's died..."

"You call that bad news?" Ron grinned.

"...and just before he died he somehow set Buckbeak free, and he hasn't come back."

"Oh no," said Hermione. "He might find his way back to Hagrid! We'd better go and warn him."

"You really think he'll find his way back to Hogwarts?" asked Ron.

"If he does, it's better to be prepared," declared Hermione, closing her books and levitating them one by one into her bookbag. "Besides, we haven't seen Hagrid outside of class for two weeks."

"I just hope he doesn't try to feed us," said Ron.

* * *

There was a knock at Severus's door. "Enter," he called out irritably, unable to open it himself because he was attempting to add a particularly volatile substance to the potion, one grain at a time. The seconds ticked by until he finished stirring them in, and the potion changed colors, shifting from a cool lime into magenta.

He sighed in relief and wiped his forehead with a tea towel. "What is it?" he growled, turning toward his visitor.

"Good evening, Severus," said the Headmaster pleasantly.

"Ah, good evening." Severus wiped his hands off for good measure. "The Salus Potion is nowhere near ready, sir..."

"Yes, I know." The Headmaster handed him a folded parchment. "Here is the list I mentioned to you earlier. The potions are listed in order of importance."

"Yes..." Severus unfolded the parchment and scanned its contents. "Have you come to a decision about who shall undertake the purchasing of ingredients?"

"Minerva shall accompany you to Diagon Alley over the weekend." He conjured a large, comfortable chair and sat down. "You're right, of course; you are the only one who can make sense of such a complicated list, and purchase the highest quality ingredients."

A stool nudged the back of his leg, and Severus took the hint and sat down. "A few of these potions will require ingredients that are...less than legal."

"As you've mentioned before." The Headmaster gave him a firm look. "You will not attempt to purchase said items. It's better for Mundungus to do so."

"Yes, sir," said Severus automatically.

The Headmaster looked thoughtful for a moment, stroking his white beard. "I've spoken to Kingsley about the basilisk you found in the Chamber of Secrets. He has, as you know, a natural curiosity about such creatures. He said that they normally do not reach that size in such a short period of time."

"Clearly blood magic is at work." He focused on the list, mentally putting together the quantities of ingredients he would need.

"Of course. The chamber is permeated with it. Have you given any thought to where the secret passages in the Chamber of Secrets might terminate? I have a feeling that one of them leads directly to the hatching chamber."

"Hmm? No, I haven't."

"I have thought, for many years, that the other leads to one of these rooms." His keen blue eyes scanned the walls. "These are the original rooms that Salazar lived in when he taught at the school, and he most likely used a secret way to get to the chamber without being seen. The entrance in the bathroom was meant for the basilisk itself, after all. I would hazard that the trigger for the passage is reliant upon blood magic..." He was quiet for a moment.

Severus looked up. "Headmaster, there's something...I..."

"Yes?" Blue eyes fixed upon him, sharp and knowing.

"I dreamt of a Grim," he said. "I dreamt that you were dead."

"There are worse things than death." He smiled. "Should I take it, then, that your feelings have changed about dream-readings, and Divination?"

"Hardly," sneered Severus. There was a sharp rapping at the door. Severus gestured and it opened.

"Albus, there you are," said Minerva, looking relieved. "There's a reporter from the _Daily Prophet_ here. I told him you were away, but he threw a frightful fit and insisted upon speaking with you."

The Headmaster stood up and the chair disappeared. "Terry Bramley?"

"He wrote the article about Sarah," said Severus, frowning.

"Yes, that's him." Minerva narrowed her eyes. "He mentioned that he interviewed the Millstones, too, after they talked to Sarah."

"I believe that was a bluff," said the Headmaster. "When they left this afternoon, they mentioned that they did not want their story revealed further, and I cannot imagine that he convinced them otherwise. He has been hanging around Hogsmeade and the gates of Hogwarts; perhaps he identified them as they were leaving."

"We'd best get upstairs before he snoops any further," said Minerva with a sniff of disdain.

"Yes, good evening, Severus," said the Headmaster as he left.

"Good evening," echoed Minerva.

Severus saw them to the door, and then closed it, his hand lingering on the frame. His mind buzzed with new developments.

The same reporter who had written the exposé on Sarah was now interviewing the Headmaster. Severus felt the urge to catch Bramley on his way out and find out who had leaked him the information, preferably in a painful manner.

He wondered who the Millstones were, and why they had talked to Sarah. He couldn't place the name; there were no students that he knew of with that last name currently attending Hogwarts.

He hesitated before walking through the door, but the vague worry that crept up his spine could not be allayed. He walked swiftly up the stairs toward Sarah's room.

* * *

Sarah lay prone on the couch, her feet sticking out over one arm. She stared into the fire, watching the flames dancing, remembering Das Herrenhaus. The pillow under her cheek was soft, but she was not sleepy in the least.

A sudden knocking at the door alarmed her, until Severus came in. With a wave of his hand he closed the door, and then gestured for a chair to glide closer. He sat down, not taking his eyes off her. "What is going on?"

"I am not in the mood for company," she said, putting her head back down on the pillow and once again staring into the fire.

He didn't reply at first, but when he did speak, his voice was tinged with irritation. "I won't _trouble_ you for long, then."

She drew a long, shaky breath. "I don't know why you're _troubling _me at all."

"Is something...the matter?" He looked extremely uncomfortable.

"Obviously you are not going to respect my wishes," she said, more sharply than she'd intended. "Tell me what you rushed up here to say." She closed her eyes.

There was a long pause. "I spoke with the Headmaster. The reporter who wrote the article about you is here at Hogwarts."

"Fine. Thank you. Good evening." She did not open her eyes.

Another pause, and she could almost hear his indignation. "There is the little matter of the article. If anything else appears in the papers I have no doubt you'll be sacked."

"Yes, I gathered that. Good evening."

"This is not a matter to joke about," he said softly. "If you lose the Headmaster's protection, they will find you."

She did not reply. Her eyes felt itchy, and she rubbed them with one hand.

"The Headmaster also seems to think that one of the secret passages in the Chamber of Secrets leads to—"

"I don't care if it leads to Minerva's favorite tin of biscuits," she said wearily. "I have other things on my mind right now."

The chair creaked. "The Millstones," he said finally.

"Yes." He was always one step ahead. She dropped her hands from her face, letting them dangle awkwardly over the edge of the couch.

"Who are they, exactly?"

She opened her eyes, surprised. Apparently he wasn't as far ahead as she'd assumed. "Mary's parents."

"Mary." He seemed perplexed, and then a look of understanding came into his eyes. "The girl at Das Herrenhaus."

"Precisely." She closed her eyes again.

"The article in the _Prophet_ led them to you." He exhaled. "What did they want?"

"The usual for this situation, I'd imagine," she said in clipped tones. "Hello, you're the one who crushed our daughter's throat, please tell us exactly how it happened...ah, her last words, thank you, too bad they were about burning her sigil into your face. Then the awkward goodbye, where they are thinking what an abomination I am, and how horrible it is that I am standing here, alive, and she is not."

"If you are an abomination," he said in an icy voice, "then I shudder to think what that makes me."

"Whatever you did, you have more than atoned for," she said, her eyes feeling uncomfortably warm. "I, on the other hand, have murdered and cast Dark Magic for the most selfish reason of all, simply to survive."

"You know _nothing_ of what I've done, nor why. You have no idea what I've...made up for" His voice crackled with anger.

"I know one thing. I have the scars on my back to prove it." She opened her eyes, to see him staring at her, livid. "And I needn't remind you that you healed them. What I have done, no healing can touch."

His body was tense and his black eyes glittered. "I've heard your story, and you've done nothing to be ashamed of."

"I think I have," she said quietly. She stared into the flames. "I killed a woman...a girl, really. I strangled her with my bare hands. I killed a man...a man who had taken me in, sheltered me, helped me and taught me so much. I cut his throat and watched him bleed to death."

"You had reason to do so."

"It didn't _hurt_ so much when I did it," she said weakly. "It seemed so clear and logical at that moment, that there was no other way. But now it's all muddled. If you had seen the looks on her parents' faces, as I spoke to them..."

"I understand _precisely_ what you mean." He looked at her pointedly.

"But your actions were indirect. You did not slice through someone's jugular."

"Don't bandy words with me," he said dangerously. "That particular potion killed nineteen people."

"With Lucius's help."

"Without my potion they would have lived," he said sharply. The look on his face grew cruel. "And I notice that you left Macnair off your list. Did you enjoy it too much?"

She inhaled in shock, staring at him. She remembered the horrible gurgling noise Macnair made as he collapsed, and she covered her face with her hands as the emotions threatened to swamp her. Using the Painstone for so long had kept her distant from her own emotions, as if she was behind a waterfall, removed from herself, but now they were crushing her, suffocating her.

She wished she could use the Painstone right then. She let her hands drop again.

His face was unreadable, except for his lips, which were drawn in a tight line. His hands gripped the arms of the chair.

"I didn't say Macnair's name because I didn't think of him," she said softly. "I only wanted to get you away from them. I panicked, thinking he was going to drag me back to the Dark Lord, I...didn't know what to do, and the Painstone was in my hand, and it was the only way. Once I began to use it I couldn't...I didn't want to stop." Her voice wavered.

Severus looked away, staring into the fire, a muscle in his cheek jumping. "He probably deserved it," he said grudgingly.

"I don't know," she said helplessly. "That decision should not have been mine."

"Some decisions are unavoidable."

"It wasn't. I could have just as easily left him there alive. But I couldn't stop thinking of what he had done to me, and I was so afraid of him..."

"You were trying to protect yourself. The Wizengamot would most likely consider it self-defense." He sounded bitter.

"It was _murder_." She opened her eyes again, looking into the flames. "It cannot be termed as anything else." _First he calls me to task for murdering Macnair; now he defends me._ She could not understand what he was driving at.

"Yes. But in war, there are such things as extenuating circumstances."

"I doubt I would have a friendly enough reception in the Wizengamot for them to even consider it. The fact remains that I killed him. He will never draw breath again, nor Mary, nor Erich. I've robbed them of their lives, yet I still live." She drew in another shaky breath. "The Painstone did not cut off everything. But this...these feelings are so overwhelming now...I can't help but wonder whether I have any right at all to be here."

Severus looked shocked. "You have every right to be here. Dumbledore has vouched for you himself."

"As well as being extremely charitable, Dumbledore has no particular desire for the Dark Lord to possess the Painstone. I understand his reasoning, and I understand why he's given me sanctuary. But I still feel...undeserving."

"_Undeserving?_"

"My presence here has brought undue attention—"

"Do not forget how very _useful_ you are. Especially to Potter, who wears your amulet. And think how very useful it would be to the Dark Lord to possess you." His lip curled.

She felt very weary suddenly, and sick to death of talking. He was not being clear about what he wanted from her, and she had no desire to continue this unwelcome conversation. "It has been a long day. Good night." Irrationally angry that he hadn't left, and was now forcing her to leave her own office, she stood up, grabbing her pillow.

His expression was unfathomable. "Very well, then." He sounded churlish. "Good night." He stood up as well, dramatically spinning on his heel and slamming the door behind him.

Sighing with relief, she lay back down on the couch, stuffing the pillow under head and staring into the flames once again.


	77. Touch of a Serpent

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

**Warning: **This chapter contains some graphic content.

* * *

"Oi!" said Ron, coming into the Gryffindor common room. He sat down next to Harry and Hermione. Harry looked up from his Transfigurations essay, and thought he smelled smoke.

"Your hair's singed," said Hermione with an odd expression, reaching her hand out to touch it.

"I was just in the Owlery," announced Ron. "Got in a bit of a tussle with Theodore Nott."

"Nott?" asked Harry, surprised. "What was he doing?"

"Owling someone, I'd imagine," said Hermione.

"He had an owl, a big one, and he was attaching a package to its leg." Ron shifted in his seat, looking around the empty room to be certain no one was listening. "He had just finished when I came in. Saw me and seemed scared, and pulled out his wand and tried to hex me. I knocked him off his feet, the git!" He looked proud of himself.

Hermione looked curious. "Could you tell what he was owling?"

"Dunno. But it was heavy, that's for sure." Ron seemed miffed that she hadn't congratulated him on defending himself. "It didn't look like any of the school's owls, or a Ministry owl."

"What did Crabbe and Goyle do?" asked Harry.

"They weren't there, believe it or not," said Ron. "It was just us in the tower, that's all."

"Obviously Nott wanted this to be a secret," mused Hermione. She tapped her quill on the table absent-mindedly.

"He's a clever one," said Ron grudgingly. "He's got Parkinson eating out of his hand...did you see the expression on Malfoy's face today, when they were snogging at lunch?"

"And he's somehow convinced Malfoy's thugs to follow him as well." Harry felt a stab of pleasure to see Malfoy alone and ignored, but at the same time, he worried that Nott could be much, much worse. "We'll have to watch Nott. He must be up to something."

Hermione put down her quill. "What could he have here at Hogwarts that would be of use to anyone on the outside?"

"I don't know," said Harry. "Books from the library?"

"There are worse books than those," said Hermione, frowning. "I can't imagine anyone wouldn't be able to find any of them somewhere else. Then again, he might have just been owling something to a friend."

Ron made a scornful noise. "A friend? Any friends he's got are here at Hogwarts. And his father's a Death Eater. He was arrested at the Ministry, along with Malfoy's dad!"

"I think he's owled his dad something before," said Harry. "I think he sent the potion sample you stole from Snape to the Death Eaters. I think that's why Snape got caught. It was something he wasn't supposed to be making. In the article, it said that he brewed a cure for Professor Tanner."

Hermione flushed. "I didn't know what it was. I thought it might be something...Dark."

"Could it be a potion?" said Ron thoughtfully.

"Why would he send them a potion?" asked Hermione. "That doesn't make any sense. I'm certain Voldemort has his own potion-makers."

"Maybe it was a potion ingredient, then," said Ron defensively. "Unicorn hair or something. The Forbidden Forest is full of things."

The portrait slid aside suddenly, and Dennis and Colin Creevey entered, enthusiastically talking about the giant squid. Harry exchanged glances with Ron and Hermione, and dipped his quill into ink, scratching words anew on his Transfiguration essay.

* * *

The fire burned high and hot in her office, and Sarah sat on the couch, marking the talismans that had been handed in that day from her class of sixth years. She was impressed. Many of the students showed promise. Granger's talisman, in fact, was near-perfect.

The Slytherin students had not come to class, which was unsurprising. Only the Gryffindor students had attended. Potter had scheduled his next DA meeting with her, while the Weasley boy had slyly asked her how to incinerate howlers.

Her desk was awash with mail from witches and wizards everywhere. Most of the letters were condemnatory, raging against her and telling her that she should be shut in Azkaban for the rest of her natural life. Surprisingly enough, though, a few were from those who expressed a desire to learn blood magic. Two were from publishers, eager to have her story, and there was a proposal of marriage from one Mr. Edgar Thicklewaite in Sussex.

It was much later than she would have liked, and even though she could feel how bone-tired her body was, her mind was another thing entirely. She would be lucky to sleep that night. Pausing in her marking, she stared into the flames of her fireplace. She hadn't spoken to Severus at all that day. He had swept past her earlier in the Great Hall, not even pausing to make eye contact. She put down her quill and flexed her fingers.

There was a sudden, frantic banging at her door, and she leapt up out of her seat in shock. Looking at the clock, she realized that it was two in the morning. She couldn't imagine who it could be.

To her great surprise, at the door was Pansy Parkinson, one of the Slytherins who was now boycotting her class. She looked disheveled, as if she had dressed in a great hurry, and her face was marked with tears.

"Miss Parkinson? What are you—"

"Please!" cried the girl, obviously in great distress. "Please, Professor Tanner, you have to come, you have to help him!"

Had Severus been injured somehow? Her heart squeezed in terror. "Who?"

"Theodore!" Miss Parkinson looked desperate. "Theodore Nott. We—he needs your help!"

"I don't understand," said Sarah. "Has he been hurt? Come in, and we'll Floo to the infirmary, and Madam Pomfrey—"

"No!" she shrieked. "He's—you're the only one who can help him! You have to!" She grabbed Sarah's wrist and began pulling her out of the door.

"Calm down. You're not making any sense! Madam Pomfrey is far better prepared to deal with—"

"He tried to do blood magic," she wailed, "and now he's dying. You have to help him!"

Sarah stared at her in horror. "You can't be serious."

"Yes, I am, now will you move, please?" She tugged more insistently.

"Where is he?" she demanded.

"In his dorm room," she said, wiping tears from her face with the back of her free hand. "We don't have time..."

"Very well," said Sarah, feeling a sense of foreboding as she followed the girl down the corridor.

"He was experimenting." Parkinson had finally let go of her wrist when they reached the steps that led down to the dungeons. "He had a book...he sent away for it...I thought it was rubbish, but he was sure it would work..."

She groaned inwardly. There was a very real market for such things, just as there was a market for false talismans and Kwikspell courses. Often books that purported to contain the secrets of the Sanguimagi were merely misleading. Occasionally they were outright dangerous.

They were in the dungeons now, and Sarah looked fleetingly at Severus's door as they passed it, wondering if she should wake him. In fact, she felt more and more uneasy as they arrived at the door to the Slytherin common room and Pansy said, "Nobility," which let them through.

It seemed that nearly every student was awake. They were all in various stages of dress, some in robes, some in pyjamas, some in dressing gowns...and all of them were staring at her.

_Merlin,_ she thought in fright. There were students here whose fathers were Death Eaters, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she realized that this could be a trap. She stopped for a moment, registering that more than a few held wands.

"Come on!" said Parkinson shrilly.

It was then that Sarah heard the screams of someone who was clearly in horrific pain. She hardly needed Parkinson's guidance to navigate the maze of rooms that made up the Slytherin dormitories; she merely followed the agonised cries.

Parkinson opened the door to one of the dorm rooms, and the screams grew exponentially louder. Sarah had the urge to clap her hands over her ears, and stepped through the doorway, where a few teenagers were gathered around a still form lying on the floor. She briefly glanced at them, noting Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle as well as a few older students she didn't recognise, before turning back to the problem at hand.

"Merlin," Sarah said in shock. There was a strange metal device next to him, tall and thin. "What is this?" She winced at the horrible, raspy screams, and pulled out her wand. "_Silencio_!"

It was suddenly eerily quiet in the room. She could hear the other boys' frightened breathing.

"It's a Muggle device," said Parkinson in a rush. "He read that you had to add the blood to your own...he didn't know how, but he figured it out, he stole it from somewhere, and then he added the blood...Get out of the way!" She pushed one of the boys, and he took a clumsy step backward.

Sarah looked at the contraption, frightened. There was a glass container hanging from a metal hook, with a long line snaking down to the boy's arm, which was strangely discoloured. "Wait." A wave of nausea cramped Sarah's stomach as she stared at the container, which was half-full. "That's...basilisk's blood." With growing horror she remembered that she had not stayed behind to seal the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, and that it would have been simple to steal down into the basilisk's lair to collect its blood.

"Yes," said Parkinson. "You have to help him!"

"Answer me quickly," demanded Sarah. "Was it entirely full when he began?"

"Almost f-full," she said, tearing up.

Sarah leaned down and pulled the blanket off Nott. Tearing open his robe, she winced as she looked upon the teenager's body. His skin was disfigured by numerous bleached-white patches. His eyes were open; his left was already partially opaque.

"You," said Sarah, pointing randomly at one of the boys. "Get Madam Pomfrey! Tell her we'll need a Blood-Replenishing Potion and anything she has that can heal burnt skin, or wounds from acid."

"Er," he said, looking at Parkinson.

"Now!" shouted Sarah. "I will do all I can, but I am not a Healer." She pointed to another. "You! Go get your Head of House."

"But—"

"Go!" said Parkinson. They both hurried away.

"Do you know how to...disconnect this?" said Sarah, touching the long, thin tube.

She wrinkled her nose. "Of course not!"

Sarah knelt next to him. "Very well, then." She ripped the end out of his arm. Blood spurted, predictably, and Parkinson turned a shade paler. Sarah covered the cut with her hand and closed the wound.

"You...couldn't use it backwards, then? To pull out the blood?"

Sarah fixed her with a harsh glare. "Perhaps if I wanted to pull out _all_ of his blood. But I don't think he'd appreciate that, either." She turned back to Nott. "I am not powerful enough to drain only the basilisk's blood out of his body from a single point...it will have to come out of his skin."

She nodded, looking very frightened.

Sarah took a long, controlled breath. "Basilisk's blood is caustic," she said in the calmest tone she could affect. "It's very strong. I must tell you that there is nothing to be gained by mixing it with your own blood. Nothing positive." She grimaced. "You need to help me with this. Do you have your wand?"

"Yes." She shakily produced it from her pocket.

"I will attempt to pull the blood from him, but it is up to you to lift it away from his skin," she said. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes, but how?" cried the girl.

"You haven't levitated liquids yet?" She swore under her breath. "Do you know any cleansing spells?"

She nodded jerkily.

"Very well, then. As the blood surfaces, you'll have to clear it away. But, mind this, you _must_ stay out of my way. Do not get between my hands and his body. Do you understand?"

She nodded again, white as a sheet.

"I'm going to begin," she announced. "Don't touch me. Don't disturb me in any way. If Madam Pomfrey arrives before I am done, tell her not to touch me or disturb me. I must try to draw all of the blood out at once, before it does any more damage."

"Did you hear that, Crabbe? Goyle?" demanded the girl. They both nodded solemnly. She turned back to Sarah. "I'm ready." Her wand hand still shook.

"Even more importantly: _do not touch him_ under any circumstances. No matter what happens, you _must not_ touch him."

"I understand." Tears spilled out of her eyes.

Sarah gestured with her wand, and the rest of Nott's clothing sliced open and fell off, baring his awkward, gangly teenage body to her scrutiny. The patches of white were growing, emitting a strange, faint light, and she knew that she had little time. It was a fool's errand, this, for a boy who had bullied her and threatened to kill Severus, and she was amazed that she was even going to try. She stuck her wand in her pocket and held her hands palm-down several inches above his chest.

"Do you think he'll be all right?" asked Crabbe uncertainly.

"Shut it!" said Parkinson, her eyes watching Sarah's every twitch.

Sarah concentrated on the boy beneath her hands, feeling the harsh blood twisting within him, burning everything it touched. What she was about to do was difficult for even a powerful Sanguimagus, and would be near-impossible for her...but there was no one else who could draw blood from a body. She had no choice. Her fingers tingled as she tentatively began to search out and separate the basilisk from the boy.

A few minutes passed, and she could hear sobs in the background. They began to recede, until she heard nothing at all, her entire body locked in service to her hands.

She _pulled_.

Gently, at first, to see how deeply the blood had ingrained itself, but then with more force. Nott choked, his chest rising off the floor, and she hoped no one would be foolish enough to attempt to touch him. She cursed, not caring who heard her; she could feel how powerfully it had taken hold. She pulled again, and Nott made pathetic gaping motions with his mouth that might have been ragged cries, had she not cast the Silencing Charm on him earlier.

For a moment her attention wavered, and she could hear the sounds of a struggle behind her, but it passed quickly, and again she threw herself into the task. Her hands vibrated as they pulled even harder.

The boy shook like a leaf, his arms and legs flinching violently. She pulled, gritting her teeth.

Blossoms of reddish-brown blood began to appear on his bare skin, faintly at first, but soon they were oozing, hissing on his flesh. For a long moment they pooled, and then there was a tingle of magic as, one at a time, they were scrubbed from his body.

It seemed to make little difference at first. For every bloody spot Parkinson cleaned, two more sprang up in its wake.

Sarah pulled again and again. Skin could be healed; his arteries and veins, however, were another story. More blood pooled on the boy, but Parkinson seemed to have cleared her head, and was gaining ground.

Already Sarah could feel herself wearying, and she was only half-done, at best. She pulled again, willing the blood to rise, forcing it to divide from his blood, making her call so irresistible that the basilisk's essence would dissipate and push its way through the muscle, through the sinew, to his skin.

It was not enough.

Fewer and fewer spots of blood appeared on his torso; her whole body was rigid, pulling with as much force as she could muster, but not enough had been removed.

She cursed again. She could not pull it all out in this manner. If she did not remove all of the blood, the boy would die, and very soon. Unless she did something else. Something radical. Something horribly idiotic.

The Dark Mark was very clear on his arm, now that some of the white patches had diminished, and its ugly, brutish skull grinned maddeningly at her, taunting her.

But his face was still a boy's face, still a teenager, and she could not help but feel pity for him.

She lowered her hands until they were just above his chest. She could feel the heat, the heat of a living human being, and she closed her eyes and placed both hands directly on his torso.

She _pulled_. It was his last chance.

The last of the basilisk's blood fought with her, not wanting to leave the blood it had found. It had no choice, however; her hands, directly on his chest, pulled the tainted essence from every extremity, violently yanking it out of his body, which shook and spasmed. She hissed in agony as the blood scalded her fingers and palms, but she could not let it stop, there was still more, and then more, and she felt all the more fool; if he was meant to die, what was the use of any of it?

His arms and legs contorted and flailed like a doll's, and blood was leaking from the corner of his mouth; he had bitten his tongue somehow. She concentrated, ruthlessly calling the blood with a force she knew to be just short of fatal. His eyes rolled up into their sockets as he arched beneath her hands, blood spurting between her fingers. It _hurt_, her hands were aflame, but she was certain that it was nothing compared to the agony he was feeling.

One last pull, and his body suddenly collapsed, his eyelids fluttering shut. He looked almost like a corpse, pale and bloody, and she lifted her hands quickly. Parkinson immediately cleaned the blood, but it had already scalded his chest, leaving a huge patch of angry, blistered flesh.

Sarah leaned back, suddenly aware of the room again. Madam Pomfrey stared at her, fear and shock apparent in her face. "Madam," said Sarah, and then coughed. "He'll need a Blood-Replenishing Potion, and salve...and..."

"I am aware of what he needs," she replied, though not gruffly. "I will attend to him. Severus? If you would Summon a stretcher, we will take this boy to the infirmary."

Sarah blinked, rising to her feet, and stepped back, out of the way of the stretcher. Severus only looked at her once, his face a mask of control, before turning to Poppy to assist her with the boy.

There was nothing left for her to do. She stumbled out into the corridor. There were only a few older students in the hall, but when she finally figured out her way back into the common room, she could see that most were still awake, craning their necks to see what was going on. She blinked, feeling exhausted and disoriented, and realized that her hands were covered with basilisk's blood. She could have had Parkinson or one of the other Slytherin students to remove it...then again, if something went wrong, they could injure her hands permanently. Severus and Poppy were much too preoccupied, as well. She hid her bloody hands in her robes as best as she could, and left, leaving excited whisperings and murmurings in her wake.

The dungeons were not easy to navigate. Her head was filled with an ominous buzzing, and the corridor kept tilting to the right. Worse, her hands felt as if they were on fire, but she dared not touch her wand while they were still covered in basilisk's blood, as it could damage the wood.

Nearing the stairs, she stopped and looked at them, at a loss as to how to climb them. They seemed impossibly steep and kept sliding to the right.

"Professor Tanner," said a determined voice.

Sarah looked to her left, and the action almost caused her to fall over, but then Parkinson's hand grabbed her arm.

"I'll help," said the girl, guiding her up the steps slowly.

"Thank you," said Sarah, blinking heavily. The buzzing had grown louder, and she knew she could not have made it to her room without the girl's help. Her office door loomed in front of her, blurring and reforming, and she managed to open it, staggering to her couch.

"Do you need something?" asked Parkinson. "Something for your hands?"

"I can manage," said Sarah warily.

She nodded, and came closer, staring down at her. "I owe you," she said simply. "My father says a Parkinson never forgets a debt." She stared for a moment longer, and then left, the door shutting itself behind her.

Sarah stumbled to the sink, and washed off the blood as best as she was able. Back at her desk, she fumbled with the drawer, pulling out her bottle of Auntie Dodd's Burn Relief that she'd salvaged from the trash.

Getting the cork out was nearly impossible. With her hands so scorched and blistered, she had to wiggle it free with her teeth. Turning the bottle on its side by holding it between her wrists, she laid it on the desk, and caught the thin trickle of potion as it poured out.

It felt marvellously soothing. She flexed her fingers slightly, allowing the potion to work itself in between them.

Back to the couch, she felt the tide of exhaustion finally swamp her, and she fell into darkness.

* * *

Severus thought he heard a timid knocking at his door. Rolling over, he groaned and tried to fall back to sleep.

Again he heard the knocking, only harder this time.

Cursing, he got up and threw on a robe. Doubtless a student was in trouble. He scowled as he ran a hand through his hair; it was only just past two in the morning. They'd be in more trouble before the night was through, for certain.

He yanked the door open. Forrester, a seventh year, stood there, looking frightened. "Sir, Professor Tanner sent me..."

Alarmed, Severus closed the door behind him. His first thought was that it was a trap, but the boy did not seem to be lying to him. "Where is she?" he demanded, leaning forward and searching the student's eyes.

"In the dorms, sir," said Forrester, swallowing nervously. "Pansy fetched her, because Theodore was ill..."

None of this made any sense at all, but he could tell that Forrester was telling the truth. Severus stalked off toward the common room. "Nobility," he said clearly, and entered.

He smoothed his face into an expression of authority, but inwardly he winced. Every Slytherin was awake and staring at him. "Where is Nott?" he demanded.

"This way, sir," said Urquhart, pointing to the corridor that led to the dorms, which was full of students as well.

"Out of the hallway!" said Severus loudly. "Either go to your rooms, or go back to the common room."

The students began to file out, and Severus followed Urquhart through the twisting passage, stopping at a room.

Severus stepped through and froze, his heart lurching in his chest. Nott lay prone on the floor, naked except for his pants, face up. His body was riddled with ghastly white patches, and he convulsed, his mouth agape. Sarah knelt before him, her teeth bared in a horrible grimace, her hands resting on his chest in a pool of blood.

Crabbe and Goyle stood next to Parkinson, along with one of the room's residents, Fitzgerald, who was sporting a fresh black eye. "What happened here?" said Severus imperiously, fixing his gaze upon Parkinson, who held her wand with a shaking hand, her eyes never leaving Sarah's hands.

Fitzgerald answered. "He tried to do blood magic, sir. He took the blood of a basilisk, and put it in his veins, and then he looked funny, but he told me not to pull it out, but then he started to turn white..."

Basilisk's blood. He could guess where Nott had found it. "Has someone called for Madam Pomfrey?"

"Vaisey went to get her," said Fitzgerald.

Sarah's expression changed to one of acute agony, and Severus felt his heart squeeze in misery. Whatever she was doing, it looked terribly difficult, and he reached out instinctively, thinking to pull her from him.

"No!" screeched Parkinson. "Don't touch her! She told me not to let anyone touch her!"

"What's going on?" demanded Poppy, bursting in to the room, flushed and looking rather disheveled. She looked down at Nott. "What...Severus, what has happened here?"

"I have only just now arrived myself, but from what I can tell, I believe Mr. Nott has attempted to poison himself with basilisk's blood," said Severus.

Poppy studied the silently screaming figure expertly. "She is drawing out the blood, then? She said to bring a Blood-Replenishing Potion...it makes sense, now." There was a tray floating next to her, and she began to pour different solutions into a goblet. "We will need to take him to the infirmary as soon as she has finished."

If she had noticed the Dark Mark on the boy's arm, she made no mention of it. Severus nodded. "Yes. I'm quite certain that he'll be indisposed for some time. I will notify his father." He maintained an attitude of calm, but inwardly he was afraid that the boy was going to die, so great was the agony on his face.

Nott's entire body arched, and Sarah made a strangled noise. Severus tensed, feeling fear spiraling through him, and he had to resist the urge to pull her from him bodily.

Suddenly the boy fell limply to the ground, only the whites of his eyes showing. He lay as still as if he were dead.

Sarah lifted her hands away from him, and Parkinson immediately stepped up, cleansing the blood from her boyfriend's body, leaving behind a horribly burned patch of skin.

"We haven't much time," murmured Poppy, "if we expect to save him." More loudly she said, "Severus, if you could lean the boy forward..."

"Madam," said Sarah, coughing and looking awfully pale. "He'll need a Blood-Replenishing Potion, and salve...and..."

"I am aware of what he needs," said Poppy. "I will attend to him. Severus? If you would Summon a stretcher, we will take this boy to the infirmary."

He knelt down next to him as Sarah stood up unsteadily. Severus levitated the boy's torso, and Poppy pressed a goblet to his lips, pointing her wand at the boy's throat and uttering a charm that would force him to swallow it, a sip at a time.

"Severus," came a familiar voice from behind him. A hand touched his shoulder.

"Headmaster," he replied. "The boy was...experimenting, it seems. He'd mixed his blood with basilisk's blood..." He looked up, noticing that Sarah had already left.

The Headmaster looked down upon the boy, letting his hands drop to his side. His keen blue eyes lingered on the Dark Mark on Nott's arm, and his expression became one of deep sorrow. "He will need something to protect him from the draughty air," he murmured, and Conjured a blanket, covering Nott's body with it gently.

"I will require your further assistance," said Poppy, looking directly at Severus. He could sense her fear.

"Of course," he said. He turned to the students in the room. "To your beds, now. We will be taking him to the hospital wing." While Poppy fussed over the stretcher and the Headmaster carefully placed Nott's body upon it, Severus walked swiftly to the common room, closing the door behind him on the way. Gaining their attention in an instant, he swept into their middle, ordering them to return to their beds, and telling them that Nott would recover soon enough. They streamed past him, some looking frightened or confused, and more than a few looking mutinous.

Once that had been sorted out, he opened the door again, and he and Poppy followed the stretcher out of the twisting passageway. Several students tried to peek at them from behind their doors, but one angry glance from Severus and doors shut quickly.

Back in the castle, they moved slowly toward the infirmary. The Headmaster stopped him before diverging back toward his office, telling him to contact Nott's father as soon as possible.

The hospital wing was deserted, and Poppy pulled the sheets back hurriedly as the stretcher approached a bed. Severus helped her levitate him as gently as possible and place him upon the white mattress. He was terribly pale, and a trickle of dark blood ran down his cheek to his neck.

"Will he live through the night?" asked Severus, now that there were no students nearby to eavesdrop.

"I don't know," she said truthfully, her brow furrowed in concentration. "I will need your help, though, after you've contacted his father."

He nodded, and strode off toward her Floo.


	78. A Clouded Eye

**Disclaimer: ** JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic & Bloomsbury Books all own the Harry Potterverse. I make no money from this work of fiction.

**Author's Note:** Many, many thanks to **Catsintheattic**, who provided me with the German phrases.

* * *

Severus kept watch during the night as Poppy slept. Theodore did not move or stir; he only breathed, in and out, with barely a twitch of his eyelids. Poppy had said he would be in the infirmary for at least a few weeks. She also said that it was astonishing that he had lived through the ordeal at all.

Theodore Nott, Sr., had glared when Severus contacted him by Floo earlier that day. Once Severus had explained the situation, his expression had changed to that of fright, but Severus could see no sign of surprise at the mention of basilisk blood. Nott had coolly informed Severus that he would visit his son later that day.

His back ached from sitting in the uncomfortable chair all night long. It was just after sunrise, and soon enough he would have to make his way to the Great Hall and endure another day's pointless activities, with only the scant hour or two of sleep that he had managed before the knocking on his door had awakened him in the middle of the night.

Theodore gasped raggedly, and Severus leaned forward in his chair. The teenager opened his eyes, and they rolled wildly in his sockets.

"No!" he moaned.

"You're in the infirmary," said Severus, lightly touching his arm. "You are recovering."

He turned to look at Severus, his eyes struggling to focus. "Didn't..."

"No, it didn't work," said Severus coldly. "Your foolish attempt to kill yourself failed, mostly due to the efforts of Professor Tanner."

Nott glared at him. "The book..."

"A book?" Severus was startled. "You don't mean to tell me...did you send away for that nonsense?"

"It was...written by...Grindelwald!"

"What's next for you, then? A Kwikspell course? Learn to fly without a broom?"

The teenager looked upset. His left eye looked odd, as if there was a film over it. "I'll do great things."

"And how? With the Dark Lord as your..._ally_?" taunted Severus. "You'll find out, soon enough, that the Dark Lord is not your tool. You are his."

"Just because you failed," gasped Theodore, "doesn't mean that I will."

Anger filled him. "You cannot control him." He fixed Theodore with a savage look. "You can't think you can use him for your own ambition. He'll destroy you, or someone you love, sooner or later...perhaps only for his own _amusement_."

His lip trembled. "Shut up!"

"What is going on here?" demanded Poppy, hands on hips. "Severus, I think it's time for you to return to your classroom."

"You'll want to pay attention to his left eye," said Severus stiffly. "He isn't seeing very clearly at the moment." He turned and strode away.

* * *

Sarah woke from a murky dream involving twisting basilisks. The light streaming in from the windows revealed that it was just past dawn. Reaching up to pull the blankets away, she hissed in pain.

Examining her hands closely, she noted that the blistering had disappeared, but they were still as red as lobsters, and they ached and throbbed. They had swelled during the night, and she grimaced at the thought of trying to get through her day with them in this condition.

Entering her office, she poured more Burn Relief on them, hoping to alleviate some of the worst pain. It had limited results. The swelling receded, but her fingers still were a garish red color, and she could not bend them without pain.

There was a knock at the door, and she heard it open. A weary and pale Severus entered her office, closing the door behind him. "Sarah," he said.

"Nott?"

"He lives," he said grimly. "His skin has returned to normal, though his left eye seems to have developed a slight film."

She nodded, which made her feel dizzy. "I thought it might. Erich could have drawn it out entirely. If only one eye is affected, though...it worked better than I thought." The room tilted slightly, and she blinked, trying to clear her head.

Severus was in front of her now; how had he crossed the room so quickly? He guided her to the couch, his hand on her elbow. She sat down and raised one shaking hand to her head. She was still so very tired.

"Merlin," swore Severus, grabbing her wrists. "Your hands..."

"Basilisk's blood is caustic," she mumbled.

He inspected them carefully. "You were using that hack Dodd's formula again."

She leaned back against the couch, the room spinning. "It's all I have."

"Whatever you want, you have only to ask me for," he said irritatedly. "Or at least go to the infirmary."

She slid sideways until she was lying down on the couch. There was a noise, presumably the door closing, and she closed her eyes, feeling very disoriented.

She dreamt that she was holding her hands in a bowl of ice cream. It was slick and cool and felt marvelous. She wriggled her fingers.

"Stop moving!" hissed Severus, and her eyes shot open. He sat next to her on the couch, applying salve meticulously, coating each finger one at a time.

"Ah," she said. "Thank you." Her feet hung over the other arm of the couch, though she didn't remember putting them there.

"What you did last night..." He frowned.

"He must have gone to the Chamber of Secrets," she said drowsily.

He rubbed salve into her thumb. "Yes, and I'm certain you've guessed what that means."

She blinked a few times and tried to collect her thoughts. "He's a Parselmouth?"

"No," he said impatiently. "I left the doorway open because I wasn't certain how to close it. He must have entered and stolen the blood before I informed the Headmaster."

She felt befuddled. "Then...what does it mean?"

"I doubt highly that he gathered the basilisk's blood for himself." He wiped his hands off on a tea towel and reached into his pocket, pulling out a pamphlet entitled _Learn Blood Magic in Just Ten Days!_ "I found this in his room, which is where he must have received his..._inspiration_." He fixed her with his black eyes. "You did notice that he bears the Dark Mark?"

"Yes."

"I believe he sent a portion of the blood to _him_."

Her hands were slick from the potion, and she took the towel from him, wincing. "The Dark Lord...He knows of the spell. But he is no Sanguimagus...there is no possible way he could cast Undying Devotion upon anyone."

"Perhaps not." There were black circles under his eyes. "It's also an ingredient—albeit a minor one—in the Lingering Wounds Potion."

"Oh," she said stupidly.

He looked at her for a moment longer, and then looked away. "This Undying Devotion spell...could you cast it?"

"Yes," she said quietly. "I...think so."

"If he captures you again, he'll force you to cast it, whether under the Imperius Curse or with a threat so terrible you'll obey." He sat stiffly next to her. "How can you stop someone who is in thrall to the spell?"

"It's very difficult to stop an _Anbeterin ihres Herrn_," she said, examining her hands. The red had faded entirely. "The basilisk's blood is a source of power, you see...it infuses them...it gives them some of the same protections. They don't sleep or eat; they're sustained by their energy. They are far more dangerous than Inferi, as the _Anbeterin_ keeps her mind, and her magic, intact..."

"Ah." He ran a hand through his hair. "I see."

"The link with the Sanguimagus who cast it is the most vulnerable point. If you can kill the Sanguimagus, the _Anbeterin_ will be released."

He tensed visibly. "And if...that is not an option?"

"If you can't kill the Sanguimagus, the _Anbeterin_ will continue to follow his orders," said Sarah softly. "An _Anbeterin_ is unaffected by fire, resistant to most spells, and has the strength of five men."

"Surely it can be pierced by a knife."

"Yes, of course, but it is a difficult thing to get close enough to one to strike the blow." She closed her eyes. "When the Sanguimagi were still lead by Salazar Slytherin, the Magi supposedly found a weak point, but I don't know what it was..."

"If the Sanguimagus controlling the..._Anbeterin_ were doing so under the Imperius Curse, I'd imagine that it would be possible to stop the curse."

"Yes, but...if the last spoken words..." Her thoughts spun slowly in her head. "An _Anbeterin_ can only be controlled by voice commands. If the _Anbeterin_ could not hear any further commands, she would continue to fulfill her last instructions, unless the Sanguimagus died."

"That's how they're controlled?" asked Severus, his tone one of disbelief.

"Yes," said Sarah, yawning. "Sometimes the Magi would use Silencing Charms to try to stop them, but often the commands were given in advance...They are not mindless Inferi, after all. Hence their value..." She thought she heard his voice again, but it sounded far away, and then she was asleep.

* * *

Nearly everything Severus encountered that day had irritated him. His classes had been taxing, and he had used the few precious minutes of his break to update the Headmaster on both Nott's condition and the information Sarah had told him about the Undying Devotion spell, but the Headmaster hadn't seemed appreciative, and took him to task for not knowing what Nott had been conspiring to do.

At lunch he didn't want to endure the scrutiny of his fellow professors or the students, and sent for something quick from the kitchens. Afterward he made his way to the infirmary.

When he entered, he noticed immediately that Theodore was not alone.

"Severus," said Nott Sr., his eyes narrowing.

"Nott," he replied, sitting down in the empty chair on the other side of the bed.

The teenager lay between them, sullen.

"This is all that blood witch's fault," said Nott angrily. "His eye is ruined. He can't see out of it."

Severus pulled the pamphlet out of his pocket and threw it casually on the bedcovers. Theodore stiffened and his face flushed. "I think you'll find that this is at the heart of the matter," drawled Severus.

Nott picked it up. "So he likes to read in his spare time." He read the title. "My boy's clever. He knows this is rubbish." He tossed it back on the bed contemptuously.

"If you turn to page six, you'll see that he followed their instructions, and attempted to mingle his blood with that of a basilisk, exactly as shown."

Nott shrugged. "Boys will be boys. That still doesn't explain why she meddled. She's cost him his sight. He should have been taken to St. Mungo's."

The door opened, and Severus spared a quick glance, only to see Sarah entering the infirmary. His heart sank. Of all the awful timing. She blanched when she saw them, but continued walking toward the bed.

"Come to gloat?" taunted Nott.

Severus could see the muted anger in her eyes, and remembered that Nott had beaten her when she'd been captured by the Death Eaters. "I came to see if I could examine him once more," she said calmly.

"He isn't blind enough for you already?" asked Nott, turning an ugly shade of red.

"I fear that the damage is permanent," she continued, as if he hadn't spoken. "There might be a chance, however, that I could draw out what is impairing his vision."

"Stay away from him," said Nott.

"If that is your wish," she said neutrally. "I doubt it will work, anyway, but I felt I should try."

Nott laughed without humor. "You have some nerve, witch. Coming in here and offering to heal him, when you _caused_ it."

She looked a trifle paler, but stood her ground. "Your son procured the equipment, stole the basilisk's blood, and injected it into his own blood on his own. I had nothing to do with any of it, except for my attempts to purge the blood from his system."

Theodore looked at her. "Do you think it will work?" His voice was a painful rasp.

"I don't know," she said. "We will never find out, I'm afraid. Your father has forbidden it."

He turned to his father. "Let her try."

"You're not right in the head," said Nott. "She's taking her revenge out on you. You'll be blind in both eyes, or worse, when she's through!"

"I want her to try," Theodore insisted.

Nott stared at him for a long minute, looking disgusted. "Don't be stupid!"

"If I might just—" began Severus.

"Shut it, traitor," said Nott angrily. "Listen to me, Theo. Don't give her a chance to do _worse_."

"Don't be foolish," snapped Severus, his temper fraying. "She saved his life."

"I want her to try," insisted Theodore. "Let her." He fixed his father with a glare, made disconcerting by his mismatched eyes.

Nott returned the glare. "I don't know how I raised such a son."

"Will you allow it?" said Sarah coolly.

Nott looked at her, then at Severus, and finally back to his son. "Fine," he said coldly.

"Try it now," commanded Theodore.

Sarah slipped past the father and stood at the head of the bed. She brought one hand down over his face, close but not touching. "Keep your eye open, no matter what," she murmured. "This will be very painful."

Severus watched as she closed her eyes, and he could feel a faint prickling, a sense of magic permeating the space between them, swirling above the teenager's head. The strain was fairly obvious on Sarah's face, and she looked no better than she had that morning, when she had been haggard and stumbling. It worried him that she was trying again so soon. He watched as she grimaced, her hand trembling. The feeling of magic intensified, though it was nowhere near the rush of energy that he had witnessed the night before; this was much more subtle and restrained.

Theodore began to whimper, his raw vocal cords rasping, and Nott clenched his hands into fists, his expression murderous.

"She's trying to heal him," said Severus softly.

Nott glared, but seemed to sense the warning behind his tone, and sat back in his chair.

Theodore's cries redoubled, and Sarah's jaw clenched. He thought he could hear her teeth grinding together. The teenager arched on the bed and made a horrific wheezing noise.

"That's it!" thundered Nott, reaching out to grab Sarah's arm.

"No! Don't touch her!" shouted Severus, pulling out his wand and sending a Stinging Hex flying over the bed. Nott grabbed his injured wrist, hissing.

Sarah withdrew her hand, and Theodore fell to the bed, gasping. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm afraid it's permanent."

Nott turned to her, his hand gripping her arm. "You _bitch_!"

"Severus?" asked Poppy, who had just entered the room and looked confused.

"Unhand her," said Severus. "_Now_."

Slowly Nott let go and turned to face him. "There was a time when you wouldn't have let _filth_ like that touch him." He glowered. "You're just another Mudblood-loving fool." The teenager sobbed behind them.

"I do not approve of that sort of language in my infirmary," said Poppy in a tone that brooked no arguments. "Out, all of you! The boy needs rest."

"I'm his father—"

"You may return later," said Poppy curtly. She bustled over to Theodore's side, wand drawn, with a look of concern on her face.

Nott snarled something unintelligible, and left, his boots striking the floor loudly. He sent Severus a single backwards glare full of menace.

"It seems we've been dismissed," said Sarah quietly. She turned toward the bed for a long moment, the expression on her face odd, before walking out of the room.

Theodore lay on the bed, looking haggard, and Severus's eyes were drawn to the Dark Mark on his arm. He looked so _young_ lying there, so harmless; the Mark seemed like an ugly blot on his pale skin.

* * *

Severus dreamed.

_Cold._ _So very cold. An infinite landscape of white. The earth, flat and covered with a bare dusting of snow._

_In every direction it spreads out before him, endless. His breath emerges in tiny clouds as he turns, looking for a landmark—anything to break the relentless horizon._

_There is no sun. The sky is grey, emitting a thin, wan light._

_He picks a heading and begins walking. He must take care to walk a straight line, or he will come back to the same place._

_Time moves with him, slowing when he slows. There is no change in the light or the snow he has so carelessly sullied with his black boots. It seems endless, quite still, and he begins to wonder where he is. What sort of trap he's in._

_There is a long dark smudge on the horizon. He stops and squints. A dark lake, perhaps?_

_Another mile or two, and he can see that it's a forest, massive gnarled black oaks tangled in a straight line across his path. He comes closer and closer, until he can see inky leaves shedding ash and soot over their exposed roots. The trunks groan and sway._

_There is a figure standing there in front of the dark trees. Waiting for him._

_He slows, but still continues walking. It would do no good to stray off his path now; whoever it may be, they have seen him already._

_Closer still, and he can see that the figure is dressed entirely in white, standing rigidly in stark contrast to the twisted blackness behind her._

"_State your name!" he calls out as he approaches._

_She does not answer. He can see, now, that she is wearing antiquated, harsh white armor, and her hair is white. Her skin is white._

"_Your name!" he says again. Another step, and suddenly he does not need an answer._

_Sarah._

_Her lips, her pale green eyes, even the pink of her fingernails have all been bleached to ghastly, milky paleness._

_He stops in front of her._

_There is only one spot of color. A blood-red symbol, carved into her forehead, pulsing eerily._

"_Sarah," he says. She does not twitch. She does not draw breath. She stands, uncannily still. The blackened trees behind her moan and writhe._

"_Sarah!" he says, louder this time. It makes him sick, looking at the blank white void of her eyes._

_Her hand strikes out, as swift as a snake, wrapping around his throat, crushing. He tries to speak, tries to cast a spell, anything, but he is completely helpless in her implacable grip, clutching uselessly at her wrists. Her fingers tighten ever so slowly._

He came awake, panting, gasping desperately for breath, his lungs on fire. Grabbing his wand and waving it, he lit the torches in his room with a burst of flame.

His room. His ribcage heaved, trying to draw air in, and he looked around again, realizing that he was at Hogwarts, that it had just been a dream.

He had kicked off the blankets sometime during the night, and he shivered as he sat there, trying to calm his racing heart, blinking his eyes until they were accustomed to the glare of the torches.

There was a faint creak in his office, as if a door had opened.

His blood ran cold. The spells which protected his suite of rooms were powerful. It would take quite a battering to gain entry, and there would have been a signal, had they been breached. Leaping out of bed, he grabbed his robe, pulling it on hastily and snatching his wand.

Opening the door into his office, he stood poised with _Protego_ on his lips, ready for any attack, but it was empty.

The door to the hall stood ajar. He could not imagine how anyone had entered without serious struggle.

Unless they hadn't entered, but _left_.

Walking toward the door, he gripped the edge and opened it all the way, looking down the corridor in both directions, but seeing and hearing nothing. Turning back to the door, he examined it thoroughly, muttering spells under his breath as he ran his wand over the wood. Nothing. He stepped through again, about to slam it shut in disgust, when his eyes were caught by something at the very bottom. A piece of string?

No. A bit of yarn. Yellow yarn. He plucked it from the rough bit of oak where it had been snagged. Where had he seen this before? He struggled to think.

The fetch.

Cursing, he opened the door again, scanning the hall, but the little doll was gone.


End file.
